


To Rouse Anew

by blehgah



Series: inevitably predetermined [2]
Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Dino is mentioned, Drunk Sex, I have no idea what to tag this as, Light Angst, M/M, Non-Idol AU, Texting, betweenyouandme, briefly mentioned past soonhoon, i come off pretty North American here my apologies, it gets kinda rambly, some more Drama, they're older
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 22,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8317600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehgah/pseuds/blehgah
Summary: Seungcheol and Jihoon used to date in university, but they broke up on good terms when their careers pulled them apart. They have not talked in years, but some drunken urge and a handful of coincidences push them back together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic has two prompts:  
> -Apodyopsis: the act of mentally undressing someone  
> -Cavoli riscaldati: the attempt to revive a long-finished love affair
> 
> This is a direct sequel to the earlier fic in this series, though it's not entirely necessary that you read the first; it's not referenced in any way. 
> 
> Also: [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/blehgah/playlist/1iRXvWCjt4DZrxOvSp7zg3) is a spotify playlist I listened to while writing this. It's constantly under construction, so if you have any suggestions for jicheol songs, let me know!

Seungcheol isn’t exactly a _drinker_ , and his alcohol tolerance isn’t what it used to be. Nowadays he sticks to wine—whiskey if he’s feeling especially stressed or adventurous—but Jeonghan, his roommate’s new boyfriend, brought some soju to have with dinner.

It’s a bit past 9PM when the old photos come out. Seungcheol nurses his second bottle, elbow to elbow with Jisoo, his roommate, as the three of them gather around the coffee table in the living room.

“And this was from graduation,” Jisoo says, holding up a photo against the light. “I got that suit tailored just for the occasion.”

Jeonghan whistles. His eyes seem to sparkle in the living room’s dim lights, and Seungcheol nudges Jisoo and waggles his eyebrows. Jisoo just elbows him in response.

“Even back then, you were a looker,” Jeonghan says, sweetness dripping from his tone like honey.

“Shut up,” Jisoo whines. He smacks the top of Jeonghan’s arm lightly and Jeonghan laughs.

“I dunno, Jeonghan, look at his hair,” Seungcheol supplies.

“Hey,” Jisoo whines again. He sets the photo face-down on the coffee table and moves onto flipping aimlessly through the rest of the stack.

“These are from even earlier,” Jisoo murmurs. His fingers flick through the photos with ease, though there’s one that catches Jeonghan’s attention.

Jeonghan snatches it from Jisoo’s grip and holds it close to his face.

“This is you, Seungcheollie,” Jeonghan states. He turns it from side to side. “You’re all sweaty here.”

“When is he not sweaty?”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol complains without much heat. He presses his face against Jisoo’s chest in an attempt to get closer to Jeonghan. “What is it, though?”

“I don’t recognize any of these people,” Jeonghan says. With a huff, he grabs the pile in Jisoo’s lap and starts to rifle through the remaining photos.

Groaning, Seungcheol takes a swipe at the photos. “Those are probably _really_ old,” he laments. “Gimme.”

Jeonghan aims a grin in his direction and rolls away from Seungcheol’s reach.

“Your hair’s all fluffy and cute in these,” Jeonghan says, “and you’re still wearing your earrings, aww.”

A year or two ago, Seungcheol stopped wearing his earrings because they didn’t suit his work attire. He’ll put them on for certain occasions, though his cartilage piercing closed up already.

“Oh?” Jeonghan says as he sits up, his grin stretching. “Who’s _this_?”

Both Jisoo and Seungcheol crane their heads to look at the photo in Jeonghan’s grip. Jisoo sees it first and sits back, glancing over at his roommate. When Seungcheol meets his eye and lifts a questioning brow, Jisoo looks away again.

“Don’t know how that got in there,” Jisoo murmurs. His low tone of voice distracts Jeonghan enough for Jisoo to take the picture back without much trouble. Now that it’s in Jisoo’s hands, Seungcheol can take a better look.

It’s from Seungcheol’s third year in university. It’s a selfie of him and his boyfriend at the time—one Lee Jihoon.

Jisoo passes it to Seungcheol without any fuss.

“I’m gonna get something else to drink,” Jisoo states, getting to his feet. He gives Jeonghan a pointed look. “Give me a hand?”

Jeonghan stands up as well, following on Jisoo’s heels with a vaguely guilty look on his face. Seungcheol can hear him start to ask questions, but it’s easy to tune them out in favour of focusing on the photo in his hands.

He should be about twenty-one in this photo, so it’s about… seven years old? It’s old enough to go to school. God.

His eyes trace over his younger features, picking out his wide grin, the sparkle in his eyes, the warmth in the corners of his lips. He wonders if he still looks like this.

He chugs the remainder of his soju before moving onto Jihoon.

It’s been years since he last contacted Jihoon. He still likes to think things ended well—amicably, even—but nonetheless, they drifted apart; isn’t that telling enough? They spent their entire university career with each other. Seungcheol was Jihoon’s first boyfriend, in fact; it’s weird to think that he basically created Jihoon’s frame of reference for relationships.

In the picture, Jihoon’s wearing one of his wide smiles, the kind he saved for when he laughed at someone else’s expense. Seungcheol’s, probably. Seungcheol loved that smile even if it meant sacrificing a moment’s dignity. Seungcheol loved all of Jihoon’s smiles—he remembers that, at least, and he remembers how much he used to crave those smiles; the memory pulls at his heart like a hook. He loved the way Jihoon’s face would light up so brightly, so wholly, enough to illuminate a damn room.

God. Seungcheol wipes his mouth with the back of his hand before slipping the photo into his pocket. Even if it wrinkles, it doesn’t matter: there are more of its kind stashed away in hidden corners of Seungcheol’s room. At this point, he’s not sure why he kept so many photos in the first place; he likes to blame it on his strong sense of sentimentality.

Jisoo returns to the room with another round of soju. He meets Seungcheol’s eye across the room and gives him a rueful smile.

“Tired of walking down memory lane?” Jisoo asks.

Seungcheol accepts an offered bottle with a nod. “You know me,” Seungcheol says, “bad knees.”

Jeonghan throws a weak punch at Seungcheol’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he adds, “all your weight’s up here.”

Jisoo snorts. “Have you seen his ass?” Jisoo asks, poking said body part for emphasis. Seungcheol whines and dances away. “I’d say it all rounds out.”

“Shut up,” Seungcheol complains. “I’m sorry we can’t all be skinny pretty boys like you.”

Giggling, Jeonghan snakes an arm around Seungcheol’s waist. He rests a hand on Seungcheol’s chest as he leans toward Jisoo and says, “See, he called me _pretty._  Why can’t you call me pretty?”

Jisoo rolls his eyes. “Jeonghan-ah, I’m doing you a favour,” he states. “If I inflated your ego any more, your head would grow so big it’d fall off your shoulders, and then you’d be dead. Do you want to be dead?”

Seungcheol laughs hard enough to double over. Meanwhile, Jeonghan abandons him to collapse onto the couch, the back of his hand on his forehead.

“The cruelty that has fallen upon my beautiful shoulders… You should be ashamed!” Jeonghan cries.

Grinning, Seungcheol plops onto the couch next to him. “All’s fair in love and war, sweetheart,” he coos.

“You leave love out of this,” Jeonghan replies. He points an accusatory finger in Jisoo’s direction. “There’s no love in this household! Only pettiness and jealousy!”

“Calm down,” Jisoo mutters, joining the pair on the couch. He hooks a foot around the coffee table to pull it close enough to grab the TV remote. “Come on, let’s find some shitty drama and cry our eyes out.”

“Now that’s a plan,” Jeonghan says.

 

* * *

 

At around 2AM, Jisoo and Jeonghan pass out on the couch. Seungcheol had been right behind them, but Jeonghan kicked his shin while sleeping, waking him right up.

Like the responsible adult that he is, Seungcheol cleans up the empty bottles and the pictures strewn across the room. He manages to dig up the rest of the photos from his university days so they would never see the light of day again. Luckily, Jisoo is usually above shame tactics involving his past (and his shitty hair); his attacks usually involve food and household chores. Seungcheol might as well get a leg up while he can.

After washing up, he stares at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, Jisoo and Jeonghan’s mixed snoring serving as his background music. He runs a hand over both cheeks, admiring the lines near his mouth and nose, as well as the shadow already creeping onto his jaw.

At least it’s Friday. He can deal with his age by sleeping in and trying to avoid a hangover.

His door swings open with a creak. He leaves the lights off, using the the city street lights spilling into the room as his guide. On his night stand, his phone flashes and buzzes. He tumbles into bed and grabs it.

He has a few unread emails from work and some texts from friends who aren’t currently occupying his living room. He opts to ignore those for now, and the soft, squishy, hazy part of his brain clinging to old memories urges him to open up his photo application instead.

There are even more old photos in his cloud storage; astonishment curls in the pit of his stomach as the dates load with each picture. Never in his life has he felt older than he does now, looking at this younger version of himself. He kept every little thing apparently: there are pictures from dance practice, from lazy days in, from study sessions, from shared bus rides. There are big things like birthdays and holidays, and small things like breakfast and grocery shopping.

Some part of Seungcheol realizes he’s stepped onto precarious territory. Sure, time has buried memories of his time with Jihoon, but it looks like his old self seemed determined to hold onto them as long as he could.

He’s not sure _why_ —and now he’s making the mistake of contemplating it. Until now, he still hasn’t met anyone who fits in his life in quite the same way. But isn’t that how things are supposed to go? No one will ever fill Jihoon’s shoes, and he never expects them to. But he hasn’t been able to stay with someone for more than six months at best. He was with Jihoon for three years.

Seungcheol scrolls through more recent photos. He has a few leftover from when he dated other people, though he has a tendency to delete couple pictures once they’ve broken up. Most of these pictures focus on food rather than his date.

He scrolls back up to his pics with Jihoon. They’re squirreled away in their own special folder; maybe that was his excuse for keeping them. They didn’t really exist as long as he didn’t look at them. But now he’s looking at them like they’re some message sent from above—a message sent from his old self—and curiosity and longing and nostalgia descend upon him.

Although he upgraded phones since he last texted Jihoon, he still has his info on kakaotalk. Yet another sign, in his humble opinion. When he opens up the contact, there’s no text history; that leaves him with nothing to work with, nothing but the bits and pieces his memory feeds him, things like Jihoon’s bedhead, Jihoon’s hair damp with sweat from an intense dance session, Jihoon’s quiet smiles behind coffee mugs, Jihoon’s fingers warm and tangled with his.

Well. It’s not like he expects Jihoon to respond or anything. It’ll just be a little message to wish him well, and then he can put Jihoon back in the corner of his brain Jeonghan dug him out of.

Hopefully.

2023-05-12 ****  
**[Seungcheol]:**   
(3:03AM) _hope youre doign well jihoonie :))_

His thumb hovers over the _send_ button. His eyes rake over the words at least five times before he finds the courage to press the button.

He turns onto his side and puts his phone face-down on his night stand before passing out.

 

* * *

 

2023-05-12 ****  
**[Text Message Received]** ****  
**[Seungcheol]:** **  
** (3:03AM) _hope youre doign well jihoonie :))_

Jumping in his seat, Jihoon almost throws his phone across the room. Soonyoung looks up from where he’s sprawled out on the couch.

“You okay there?” Jihoon’s roommate asks.

It takes Jihoon a few moments to find his tongue, and when he does, all he can do is shout, “What the _fuck_!”

Yawning, Soonyoung rolls onto his back and resumes looking at his phone again.

“Some shit blow up on twitter or something?” Soonyoung asks. “The internet’s a great place at 3AM, eh?”

Jihoon puts both hands on his face and wonders if his skin is melting off. It certainly feels like it, with the way his blood catches fire and spreads throughout his veins and arteries. As silence stretches on, Soonyoung looks up again. His eyes flit from Jihoon’s phone then to Jihoon’s face.

“It’s not twitter, is it?” Soonyoung asks. When Jihoon doesn’t say anything, Soonyoung gets to his feet and crosses the room to wave a hand in front of Jihoon’s face.

It’s been literal years since Jihoon and Seungcheol have talked. Jihoon can’t even remember the last thing he said to Seungcheol, but he has a feeling it was a half-hearted attempt to schedule a catch-up date over Facebook. Every now and then, when he finds himself scrolling through his Facebook news feed with a scowl on his face, he’ll like a picture or two of Seungcheol’s, and he’s pretty sure that must have been the last time he ever interacted with Seungcheol, if that even counts.

They weren’t _supposed_ to talk again. Exes don’t do that, right? Jihoon can count the number of people he’s dated on one hand, and one of them is currently standing in front of him and waving a hand in his face. Then again, Jihoon seriously doubts Soonyoung even _counts_ : they had sex a few times and went on a few maybe dates, but there hadn’t been a future there. At least, not one where they held hands and called each other pet names (okay, maybe they actually do that now, but it’s not the same thing at all; Jihoon is confident in his completely platonic relationship with his roommate).

And it’s not like Seungcheol was ever terrible to him. Quite the contrary, really. As far as firsts go, Jihoon thinks he picked a pretty damn good first boyfriend. They were together for years, and they only broke up because their careers took them across the province, and they were convinced long distance wouldn’t work.

It became weird after a while, having an ex. It was weird to think there was someone out there who knew so many intimate things about him—things like his bathing habits, his eating habits, the inside of his asshole. It was weird to separate the idea of such intimacy from Seungcheol, and thus Jihoon couldn’t imagine him as _just a friend_ anymore—but they weren’t dating, either. It created a rift between them that only grew as the years passed.

And now this bullshit? The typos and the shitty smiley face with not only one, oh no, but _two_ parentheses simply _reek_ of drunkenness. It’s as if Jihoon can smell the alcohol that surely clings to Seungcheol’s person despite their literal and figurative distance.

“Jihoon-ah?” Soonyoung says, finally catching Jihoon’s attention.

When Jihoon looks up and meets his roommate’s eyes, Soonyoung breathes a sigh of relief.

“Are you just gonna leave me in suspense or what?” Soonyoung asks.

Jihoon takes a deep, steadying breath. He retrieves his phone from where it’s resting on the other side of the table and shows the text notification to Soonyoung.

“Oh,” Soonyoung says. His eyes widen to a comical degree. “ _Oh_ ,” he repeats, grabbing at Jihoon’s hand. He examines the phone closely, demanding answers.

“Yeah,” Jihoon breathes.

When Soonyoung finally lets go of Jihoon, he collapses into the closest chair. The plastic of their cheap kitchen furniture creaks under his weight, but both of them ignore it with the ease of habit.

“What the fuck am I supposed to do?” Jihoon asks no one in particular. His voice seems immense in the quiet of their apartment, in the quiet of his brain. His words bounce around the walls of his skull with alarming speed, dodging all the incomprehensible half-thoughts gathered there, leaving him with endless uncertainty.

After a few moments of silence—Jihoon would like to dedicate them to his fallen sanity—Soonyoung says, “Well.”

And that’s that.

“I mean,” Soonyoung continues, and he withers a bit under Jihoon’s intense gaze, “it’s not like he said anything that really _needs_ a reply. He didn’t ask anything or anything like that, so like. You can probably ignore it.”

Jihoon stares at the phone in his hands. Ignore it? _Ignore it_?

Jihoon swallows. “I… I guess,” Jihoon agrees quietly, meekly.

Soonyoung’s gaze lingers on Jihoon like he knows that Jihoon has no intention of just ignoring the text. Instead of saying anything about it, though, he just sighs and runs a hand over his face.

“It’s late,” Soonyoung says. “Please don’t do anything you’re going to regret in the morning.”

Jihoon smooths his thumbs over the screen of his phone.

“I’ll try,” he says.”

 

* * *

 

Jihoon doesn’t try hard enough.

When he finally ends up in bed at 4AM, after an hour of ignoring his phone in favour of work, he holds his phone above his face and stares at the text message with bleary eyes.

For once in his life, Soonyoung had been right: there’s absolutely no reason for Jihoon to reply to this text. There hadn’t been any questions for him to answer—no substance to the text at all. It could have been written to anyone, honestly, and the only thing that really ties the message to Jihoon is his name tacked onto the end of it.

Jihoon thumbs out of kakaotalk and opens his photo app. Against his better judgment, he hasn’t deleted all of his old pictures with Seungcheol. He remembers that Seungcheol took way more than Jihoon did, but Seungcheol also sent him about half of them. They’re all stored online, preserved by the internet, unlike his phone, which has endured a few replacements and upgrades over the years.

The pictures are stored in folders organized by date. There are a few gaps between months, but there are still way more pictures than Jihoon ought to have.

He picks a November folder out of habit; it’s his birthday month. There are pics of him with school friends, with his fellow dance crew members, and, finally, there are pics of the dinner Seungcheol treated him to that year. Seungcheol brought him to barbecue and they had fresh beef—it was pretty pricey, and Jihoon remembers scolding Seungcheol for it at some point in the night.

Kind of an asshole thing to do, really, but Seungcheol took it with a laugh. Jihoon had meant well, he thinks, but it still wasn’t very fair of him. Seungcheol dealt with a lot of his shit, Jihoon remembers.

As time passed, forgetting about Seungcheol had been easier than he expected. Jihoon honestly, genuinely loved him—but he’d also been given an opportunity of a lifetime. Music producer at a local broadcast station. Seungcheol had been ecstatic, so proud. But the local station wasn’t as local as Jihoon would have liked, and he ended up on the other side of the goddamn province.

And Seungcheol? He’d gotten a job through the school’s co-op program. He was staying downtown. He couldn’t follow Jihoon if he wanted something stable right out of school, a rare opportunity.

Breaking up had been hard on them both. They fought a lot; there were plenty of accusations of abandonment, of not loving each other as much as they said they did. It was all to cover up how frustrated they were that they had to choose between their future with each other and their future in the working world. Jihoon didn’t want to have to choose.

But he also knew that Seungcheol didn’t deserve a shitty breakup on top of the stress of a new job, so they ended up making up. They left on good terms.

They texted for a while. It was a hard habit to let go. Good morning texts, good night texts, texts asking if the other had eaten, pics of food and their new apartments and their new roommates. Texts complaining about work, texts complaining about old and new friends. Texts about how they missed each other.

Eventually, things got busy. Jihoon got moved into tech rather than production, which pissed him off more than anything. Seungcheol got promoted and had more responsibilities. They had less and less time to maintain their old habits, and Jihoon had thought it for the best at the time.

And as time passed, as the gaps between their last texts grew bigger, it got harder for Jihoon to text back. He couldn’t think of what to say. He wasn’t sure what Seungcheol wanted to hear about, what he felt comfortable telling Seungcheol. They hadn’t met in person in months. He was starting to think he didn’t know Seungcheol any more, and in some way, he didn’t—Seungcheol wasn’t the same man he used to wake up to in the morning. It felt weird to talk like they used to, and finding a new way to talk became a hurdle they couldn’t mount.

So why try again now? What difference could it make?

Jihoon closes the photo app. His eyes flit up to the time, dragging slowly over the text _4:27AM_.

Jihoon opens kakaotalk again.

2023-05-12 ****  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(4:28AM) _been ok. hbu??_

 

* * *

 

2023-05-12  
**[Seungcheol]:**   
(1:30PM) _Things have been good over here! Business as usual._   
(1:33PM) _Why only “ok”??_

2023-05-13  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(12:27AM) _coworkers are incompetent. not getting paid enough._   
(1:53AM) _soonyoung says hi btw_

2023-05-15  
**[Seungcheol]:**   
(4:14PM) _Hi Soonyoung!! :)_

2023-05-20  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(8:47PM) _ikedfjlgnregl_   
(8:47PM) _shit sorry pocket text_

2023-05-20  
**[Seungcheol]:**   
(8:55PM) _Lol no problem! :)_   
(9:01PM) _How have you been?_

2023-05-22  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(11:58PM) _ok. could be worse._   
(11:59PM) _hbu?_

2023-05-24  
**[Seungcheol]:**   
(2:09PM) _Busy! Training new interns. Kids have so much energy these days_

2023-05-28  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(10:55AM) _you dont say_

2023-06-02  
**[Seungcheol]:**   
(1:00AM) _I’m having fun, though. Even if I’m tired lol_   
(2:17AM) _I hope you’re having fun too :)_

2023-06-02  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(2:31AM) _i am. i think._   
(2:31AM) _good to see youre doing well, tho_

 

* * *

 

They meet again by coincidence. Jihoon refuses to call it “fate”.

As Jihoon and Soonyoung crash through the studio doors, the audience already seated turns their heads to look at them. Jihoon shrinks a bit under their gaze and tugs at his wrist, held in Soonyoung’s vice grip.

“Look, they haven’t started yet, we’re _fine_ ,” Jihoon hisses. Soonyoung still won’t let him go.

“But we need good seats!” Soonyoung whines. His eyes dart all over the room. Some of the people in front of them turn back around when they realize Jihoon and Soonyoung pose no threat, but some of them continue to watch.

Eventually, Soonyoung begins to pull Jihoon forward. Jihoon bows his head at the people giving them looks. When Soonyoung pulls him into the third row to the only two seats free, Jihoon has to apologize on Soonyoung’s behalf as they knock people’s knees.

“This kid can’t be _that_ great,” Jihoon mutters, crossing his arms over his chest.

Soonyoung stiffens in his seat. He looks ready to punch Jihoon in the face, but he opts for slapping Jihoon’s knee instead.

“Look at this audience, Jihoon-ah!” Soonyoung hisses. “They came for _him_! I don’t care if you don’t believe me, but these numbers don’t lie.”

“What if they’re all just family?”

That earns Jihoon an unimpressed look.

“No one’s got a family this big,” Soonyoung mutters.

“You never know.”

Their argument comes to an end when the lights dim. Even though Jihoon has already stopped talking, Soonyoung pats his knee at an urgent pace and shushes him. Jihoon just rolls his eyes before focusing his gaze on the stage before them.

It’s been a while since Jihoon has danced, but he serves as a frequent audience for Soonyoung. And sometimes Soonyoung uses his music, too. His eyes are better trained than his body.

Still, he supposes it wouldn’t take a genius to tell that the kid on stage is _talented_. His limbs flow perfectly in time with the music; his facial expressions range from playful to focused; there’s nothing sloppy or half-assed about this. Jihoon finds himself lost in the performance, and when the music comes to an end and the performer bows, Jihoon almost forgets to clap. It isn’t hard to follow the cue of everyone else, though: soon, he’s drowning in a sea of noise.

Soonyoung gets to his feet as he claps vigorously. Jihoon smiles when the kid on stage turns their way, his attention caught by Soonyoung’s enthusiasm.

“I’m gonna try to talk to him,” Soonyoung murmurs to Jihoon.

The crowd begins to disperse for snacks and mingling; it’ll be another while until the next performer takes the stage. Soonyoung’s gone before Jihoon can protest.

Holding back a sigh, Jihoon makes his way to the closest snack table. As he’s browsing fruit choices, someone bumps into his side, and he collides with the table.

“Guess it’s gonna be watermelon today,” he mumbles to himself as he grabs a slice with his bare hands, preventing it from falling onto the floor.

As he juggles the fruit in his hands, the person who bumped him touches his shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, I—”

When he looks up, Jihoon almost drops the fruit again. His eyes land upon one Choi Seungcheol, and seeing him feels like falling into a dream, like someone grabbed his feet out from under him and plunged him into the void.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol breathes.

Jihoon swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Watermelon juice slides between his fingers and onto the floor.

“S-Seungcheol…” Jihoon replies with caution. “Hyung,” he adds as a second thought.

One of these days, fate ought to stop fucking with him. Jihoon has bumped into Seungcheol unwittingly more often than he’s ever held a slice of watermelon.

Seungcheol’s eyes drill holes into Jihoon’s head. Jihoon tries to fight back, but someone bumps him again, knocking him right into Seungcheol’s personal space.

It’s warm. It’s unbearably warm. Jihoon tries his best not to get watermelon juice on either of their clothes.

“Sorry,” Jihoon mutters, eye to eye with Seungcheol’s chest.

Seungcheol grabs his shoulders and rights him once the person behind him disappears. Deflating with a quiet sigh, Jihoon moves to find some napkins to clean his hands with.

“What are you doing here?” Seungcheol asks.

“I should be asking you that,” Jihoon mutters, mostly to himself. Once he cleans up his hands to his best ability, he looks up at Seungcheol again. “I’m here with Soonyoung,” he explains, and he jerks his chin in the general direction of the stage. “I think he wants to recruit the kid.”

When their eyes meet again, Jihoon has to push down the immediate urge to run.

“What about you?” Jihoon asks.

Seungcheol’s face breaks out into a fond smile. Jihoon’s neck breaks out in a cold sweat.

“That kid? He’s an old friend of mine,” Seungcheol says. His eyes drift over Jihoon’s shoulder. “I might have mentioned him to you before. We used to dance together as kids, though he ended up at a different high school than me.”

“Guess that’s why I never met him,” Jihoon says.

Seungcheol shrugs. “He goes by a stage name now, so I wouldn’t be surprised if his name didn’t ring a bell. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if you didn’t remember anything about him at all.”

Jihoon nods dumbly. Yeah, way to remind him how long it’s been. Jihoon holds back a sigh and takes a bite out of his watermelon.

A thousand questions bubble up in Jihoon’s throat, dancing around the watermelon. _Why did you text me?_ is the most pressing one. _How have you been? What have you been up to? Are you seeing anyone right now? How easy was it to replace me?_

All Jihoon can do is chew on his fruit and steal glances when he thinks Seungcheol isn’t looking. As silence settles between them, Seungcheol moves onto looking at the selection of snacks. He picks up a mandarin and peels it leisurely. Jihoon watches his fingers move.

“I see Soonyoung’s still got you at his beck and call,” Seungcheol says eventually. He moves to deposit the peel in the nearest garbage.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “I’m a supportive friend sometimes, you know,” he retorts, though there’s no heat to it at all.

Seungcheol grins. “You guys still live together?”

Jihoon nods. “His studio’s in the building we live in.”

“Ah.” Seungcheol nods as well. “I see,” he says, and then he pops a few slices of mandarin into his mouth.

Jihoon feels no need to elaborate, and Seungcheol doesn’t ask him any more questions. Silence washes over them again; Jihoon shudders as if ice water drips down his back.

Jihoon downs two more slices of watermelon and Seungcheol peels another mandarin in the meantime. The clamour of the surrounding people only emphasizes the lack of words between them, and Jihoon feels like he’s drowning.

They don’t look at each other. Jihoon wipes his hand on the side of his pants, and Seungcheol passes him some napkins from the other side of the table.

When Soonyoung returns with a bounce in his step, Jihoon has to hold back an immense sigh of relief.

“Jihoon-ah! You wouldn’t believe—”

Soonyoung stops when he makes eye contact with Seungcheol. Seungcheol bows his head slightly, then lifts a hand to wiggle his fingers.

“It was nice chatting with you, Jihoonie,” he says, much too pleasant for Jihoon’s liking. Jihoon tries not to deck him on the spot. Smiling, Seungcheol bows his head to Soonyoung next. “Soonyoung. Glad to see you’re doing well.”

All Soonyoung can do is nod slowly, his mouth hanging open.

With one final bow, Seungcheol takes his leave.

Soonyoung hits Jihoon’s shoulder.

“What the hell was that for?” Jihoon hisses, rubbing the affected area.

“Did you invite him here?” Soonyoung asks.

“No! Who the hell do you think I am?” Jihoon grabs Soonyoung’s wrist and begins to pull him out of the building. “Jesus Christ, what a moronic question. Why the hell did I let you drag me here anyway?”

“Wha—Jihoon! Wait!” Soonyoung belatedly fights back, but the effort is futile; they’re already outside when Soonyoung starts to complain.

Jihoon takes deep, calming breaths. Beside him, Soonyoung frowns and shakes out his hand.

“Your hand’s all gross and sticky,” Soonyoung complains under his breath.

“It was the watermelon,” Jihoon mutters. He’s still busy taking in fresh air.

“Uh… Okay,” Soonyoung says. One of his eyebrows slowly drifts into his hair as he gives Jihoon a good, hard stare.

Sighing, Jihoon crosses his arms over his chest. “He bumped me into the table,” Jihoon explains, “and I had to grab it before it fell.”

“Oh. Okay.” Soonyoung nods to himself. “Yeah, you need to stop literally bumping into him,” he declares with all the wisdom in the world.

This time, Jihoon hits Soonyoung.

“Thanks, genius.” Jihoon sighs again, rough with frustration. “This is your fault, you know,” he hisses.

“What! How!”

“You brought me here!”

Frowning, Soonyoung pauses. “I guess,” he says slowly. He deflates. “Fine, you’re right. But still—was seeing him again that bad?”

“Yes,” Jihoon replies immediately.

Soonyoung rolls his eyes. “Whatever. We can go home now, anyway,” he says. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and waves it in the air. “Got Dino’s number.”

“Well, at least one of us got lucky.”

Jihoon starts towards the parking lot as Soonyoung splutters behind him.

“Don’t say that! You’ll jinx it!”

 

* * *

 

Jihoon’s luck doesn’t get any better.

He should have been suspicious when his boss sent him to some business workshop on the other side of the city. He should have asked questions; he should have protested. But no, Jihoon didn’t care enough to say a word, and now he’s stuck in some stuffy corporate office building in a suit he hasn’t worn in about a year.

At least he cleans up well. On his way there, he finds plenty of shiny surfaces to use to admire himself.

His mood falls even more when he’s stuck behind a long table facing a projector screen. It feels way too similar to being in a classroom, and with his unfortunate stature, he feels like a kid in school again. The looks he receives from his peers don’t help any, either.

His mood hits rock fucking bottom when Choi Seungcheol steps into the room just as the workshop is scheduled to begin.

The suit suits him. The lighting suits him. The godawful smile plastered on his face suits him, too. Jihoon wants to fucking punch him.

The weight in his stomach tells him he wants _fucking_ alright.

When Seungcheol’s eyes land on Jihoon, they widen just slightly. Well, at least there’s that. Satisfaction buzzes faintly over Jihoon’s skin as Seungcheol moves on with caution.

Jihoon pulls out a tablet and pretends to take notes. He opens up kakaotalk instead.

2023-08-15  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(1:03PM) _guess who i fucking bumped into_

2023-08-15  
**[Soonyoung]:**   
(1:04PM) _holy fucking shit. again?_

Holding back a sigh, Jihoon opens up a word app and types a few words into a blank document. Up there, Seungcheol’s voice sounds the same as it used to, but with a different kind of confidence; it feels like he must have held other workshops like this before.

Of course.

If Jihoon prides himself on any sort of skill, it’s his ability to multitask. He types down key words and phrases into his tablet like a diligent listener, but his mind wanders into more interesting territory.

His eyes trail over Seungcheol’s figure. He wonders if Seungcheol still works out; considering the curve of his ass and thighs in those pants, Jihoon leans towards _yes_. The pinstripe pattern of his suit makes Seungcheol seem taller than he really is—not that it matters to someone as short as Jihoon—and acts as an effective guideline for Jihoon’s eyes. He follows the lines of Seungcheol’s suit up to the seam of his thighs. He watches as the folds in his pants shift with Seungcheol’s pacing, and yeah, maybe his eyes linger there for a while. It takes him a few seconds to decide on whether or not he thinks Seungcheol’s wearing boxers or briefs.

Knowing Seungcheol, it’s more likely to be boxers, but who knows? Maybe over the years he converted to a briefs man.

Jihoon stares a little longer. No, it’s probably still boxers.

Next on the checklist is Seungcheol’s waist. His jacket is closed, but the suit is clearly tailored; it moves with him fluidly. Compared to their university photos, Seungcheol looks a little thicker, and that’s natural, Jihoon thinks, considering he still obviously works out.

Seungcheol pauses in his speech and meets Jihoon’s eyes for a brief moment. There is no shame left in Jihoon for Seungcheol to rouse, and his face remains blank as Seungcheol looks at him.

When Seungcheol moves on, Jihoon’s eyes fall to his chest. He can see the movement of his chest as Seungcheol gestures with his hands. Yep, he definitely kept up his workouts. The white fabric of his dress shirt hides nothing under the LEDs above them.

Jihoon’s eyes continue upward. Of all the things he has observed until now, the one thing that catches him off guard is the empty holes in Seungcheol’s ears.

Jihoon got him earrings as a gift once. Some distant part of him wonders if Seungcheol still has them. He wonders if Seungcheol has anything Jihoon gave him.

Well, he kept his number, at least—maybe that counts for something.

As his eyes drift back down, Jihoon begins to visualize just what could be hiding under that impeccable suit. He pictures the movement of Seungcheol’s biceps as he gestures at something on the screen. He pictures the lines of his stomach shifting as he walks from one side of the room to the other. He pictures the ridges of his hips, the curve of his erection against his stomach, the quiver of his thighs under Jihoon’s fingertips. He pictures Seungcheol’s lips parting in a sigh as Jihoon slides his hands up the insides of Seungcheol’s legs, and he pictures Seungcheol’s eyes clamping shut as Jihoon pushes into him with fervor.

Imagining it all is so easy Jihoon could scream.

Jihoon shifts in his seat, catching Seungcheol’s attention once more. This time, Jihoon has the gall to smirk—let Seungcheol think whatever he wants. For a moment, Seungcheol’s brow furrows, but then he turns to the screen and hides his expression until it smooths out.

As fun as it is to let his mind wander, it’s not much fun to deal with a tent in his pants. Jihoon tunes back into the lecture and lets hypothetical figures and graphs dull his brain back to a blank slate.

When Seungcheol finishes up, his eyes linger on Jihoon. The rest of the participants are already heading out the door, bowing to Seungcheol on the way out. Just as Seungcheol begins to approach Jihoon’s seat, a more ambitious listener approaches Seungcheol with a question.

Jihoon looks up at Seungcheol as he gets to his feet. Seungcheol stares at him for a moment longer, and then he directs his attention to the person looking to take advantage of this resource.

Jihoon walks out the door and forces the curiosity lingering on the edges of his mind out of his head. He’ll never see how much Seungcheol has changed—physically, of course—up close, and there’s no point thinking about it.

 

* * *

 

When Seungcheol returns to his apartment after hosting the workshop, Jisoo looks up at him over the top of the fridge door.

“You look stressed out,” he says. He holds up a brightly-coloured plastic bottle. “Want some yogurt?”

Seungcheol drops his keys onto the bowl by the door, and the metal clinks loudly against glass. Jisoo wiggles the bottle.

“Come on, Cheollie,” he coos.

Rolling his eyes, Seungcheol can’t help the smile that crosses his face. He approaches his roommate and takes the snack with a nod of his head.

“You’ll never guess who was at the workshop today,” Seungcheol says.

Jisoo doesn’t look up from his rummaging.

“I can guess, alright,” he says, and it sounds suspiciously like a sigh. “It was that girl you met at the bar last week and haven’t called back.”

“Huh.” Seungcheol opens the bottle and looks at its contents. According to the label on the side, it’s peach and mango flavoured, and it also provides him with 50% of his daily calcium intake. “No, actually,” Seungcheol replies. What girl is Jisoo talking about?

When Jisoo finally pokes his head out of the fridge, he’s carrying a box of takeout. Frost decorates one side with a pretty white lattice.

“Then it was Jihoon,” Jisoo says simply. He steps out of the way of the fridge door and closes it with his heel.

Seungcheol frowns. “You weren’t supposed to actually guess,” he says.

Jisoo grins at him. “The last time you asked me to guess, you made fun of me for being so surprised. So.”

Seungcheol watches as his roommate dumps the leftovers into a bowl and pops it into the microwave.

“How old is that?” Seungcheol asks. He doesn’t try to hide the disgust in his voice.

“Drink your yogurt, Seungcheol.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes, but he does as he’s told. The hum of the microwave echoes in the apartment. Jisoo’s eyes are on his phone as he waits for the food to heat up.

“No, really,” Seungcheol insists.

“My mom taught me not to waste food,” Jisoo replies without looking up.

Sighing, Seungcheol deposits his empty yogurt bottle in the trash bin. He leans his elbows against the kitchen counter and sizes Jisoo up.

“This is really, like, getting to me,” Seungcheol says.

“You concerned this is some sign from the gods or something?” Jisoo replies, finally looking up.

Seungcheol shrugs. “Maybe,” he says, and the way he hesitates makes Jisoo grin again.

“God, it’s like you’re in some real-life drama,” Jisoo gushes, “I love it.”

“Shut _up._ ”

“I’m telling Jeonghan all about it, by the way.”

Seungcheol throws his hands up. “Of course you are!”

The microwave beeps, interrupting whatever Jisoo had planned as a reply. He shrugs and goes to retrieve his food.

“I don’t know what to do,” Seungcheol whines.

Jisoo sets his bowl next to Seungcheol’s hands. Seungcheol doesn’t want to chance a look at what could have possibly come out of that takeout box.

“Alright, Cheollie, let’s take a step back for a second,” Jisoo says. He pauses to dig up a spoon. The food makes wet noises as Jisoo stirs it. “What do you want?” he continues.

Seungcheol wrinkles his nose. “What the _hell_ is that?” he asks.

Jisoo points his spoon at Seungcheol in an unspoken threat.

“Answer my question first,” Jisoo says.

Sighing, Seungcheol deflates. “I’m not sure what I want,” he replies.

He knows it sounds pathetic, but at least Jisoo doesn’t have much to say to that. Instead of speaking, Jisoo takes an experimental bite of his food. Seungcheol watches his expression.

A few seconds pass. Eventually, Jisoo shrugs and takes another bite. Seungcheol grimaces.

“You’re disgusting,” Seungcheol says.

“And you’re a mess. I’d say that’s pretty even,” Jisoo says in reply.

All Seungcheol can do is groan and put his head in his hands. Jisoo pats Seungcheol’s back with his free hand.

“Think about it. Sleep on it, even.” Jisoo’s voice floats away as he carries his food over to their dining table. “It’s not like he’s gonna blink out of existence any time soon.”

“He might!” Seungcheol protests, mostly for the sake of it.

“You’re being a baby.”

“So?!”

Jisoo exhales, soft and slow and patient. He pushes his chair away from the table, but he doesn’t stand. Instead, he pats the tops of his thighs with both hands.

“Come on, little baby Cheollie,” Jisoo coos. “Don’t cry. I’m here for you.”

Seungcheol doesn’t budge. “You’re an asshole,” he complains.

Jisoo just pats his lap again. Although Seungcheol sighs and groans, he shuffles over and takes a seat on Jisoo’s legs.

Huffing, Jisoo shifts under Seungcheol’s weight. “God, you’re heavy,” he mutters.

“It’s muscle!” Seungcheol insists.

Jisoo snakes a hand under Seungcheol’s ass and gives it a squeeze. He gives a nod of approval.

“Hmm, fine. You’re right.”

Seungcheol frowns down at his roommate. “If you just wanted an excuse to touch my ass, you didn’t have to do all this,” he states.

Jisoo shrugs. “No, I know,” he says. Another grin splits his lips as he reaches up to pinch both of Seungcheol’s cheeks—the ones on his face, at least. “This is what I actually wanted to do.”

Seungcheol sighs, though it’s warped by the way Jisoo plays with his face.

“I hate you,” Seungcheol mumbles.

“It’s okay, Cheollie,” Jisoo coos. His voice is reaching a dangerously high pitch. “It’s gonna be okay. Alright, Cheollie?”

“I haaaate yoooou,” Seungcheol repeats.

Jisoo pats Seungcheol’s cheeks one last time before dropping his hands.

“Do you feel better now?” Jisoo asks.

“No,” Seungcheol replies immediately.

“Then get off me.”

Seungcheol kicks his legs. “I don’t know what to do!” he cries, ever the petulant child.

“I’m not a mind reader, Seungcheol,” Jisoo says. He pats one of Seungcheol’s thighs and adds, “And neither are you. Just—you know, think about it. _Really_ think about it. Then maybe you’ll figure out what to do.”

Seungcheol pouts. “I guess I’ll go fuck myself, then,” he sighs, getting up.

Jisoo shoots him a grin. “I mean,” he says, “that’s one way to think about it.”

Seungcheol hits his roommate’s shoulder. Jisoo breaks into a fit of giggles.

“You’re the worst,” Seungcheol whines.

“Love you too, Cheollie.”

Jisoo lifts his spoon in Seungcheol’s direction. “Now, I’m going to eat this before it gets cold,” he says, “so leave me alone.”

Seungcheol’s face scrunches up in disgust, and he finally gets to his feet. “I’m really gonna go fuck myself now,” he says, heading towards his bedroom.

“Don’t forget to lock the door!”

With a sigh, Seungcheol kicks his door closed and collapses onto his bed face-first. As he bounces on the mattress, he fishes his phone out of his pocket. It takes some effort to get it unlocked without moving from his relaxed position, but he manages it and opens kakaotalk.

He opens his message history with Jihoon.

2023-06-02  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(2:31AM) _i am. i think._   
(2:31AM) _good to see youre doing well, tho_

It’s been months since Seungcheol last received a message. When he opened this, he had no idea what to say. Jihoon hadn’t given him any cues, leaving him fumbling in the dark.

It’s his fault that they stopped talking—now, and back then, too. He’s pretty sure this entire thing is his fault. It’s his fault they broke up in the first place; he should have moved with Jihoon; he should be in Soonyoung’s place.

But he didn’t move, and he isn’t in Soonyoung’s place. He and Jihoon broke up, and that was that. Even if it had been his fault, it doesn’t matter now. It changes nothing.

He stares down at his phone. His arms are starting to fall asleep as he balances his weight on them in an awkward position.

Groaning, he locks his phone and throws it over to the other side of the bed. Maybe he’ll think of something to say later.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon blinks and looks up at Soonyoung’s palm.

“Finally,” Soonyoung says on a low exhale. He sits back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “You zoned out for, like, a whole five minutes. You just stopped typing; I thought you died, or something.”

Jihoon blinks again. He looks down at the tablet in front of him; he’d been reviewing his notes from the workshop so he could give his manager a report on it. The new word document he opened is still blank.

He may or may not have been thinking about Seungcheol’s thighs. So what?

“Do you need to go to bed?” Soonyoung asks.

“Need to finish this,” Jihoon replies, refusing to look up. God, what had he been planning to type? He tabs back to his earlier notes; they’re surprisingly coherent, all things considered.

“Right.” Soonyoung chews on his thumb for a moment before perking up. “Oh, god,” he says, “I just remembered. Seungcheol was at that workshop, right?”

Jihoon sighs through his nose. “Yep,” is all he says. He begins to type.

Soonyoung frowns at him. “So,” he says, “do you, like… wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.”

“Jihoon-ah,” Soonyoung whines, drawing out the syllables.

“Nothing happened,” Jihoon replies. “We didn’t even talk. I just sat there for an hour and a half and listened to him talk about good business practices and shit.”

Soonyoung raises his eyebrows. “And…?” he prompts.

With a sigh, Jihoon settles his hands in his lap. He refuses to meet Soonyoung’s expectant gaze, however.

“I don’t know,” Jihoon mutters, “I guess it was just—I don’t know. Weird. To see him again for an extended period of time. He… he looks—different.”

“Different?” Soonyoung repeats, suspicion colouring his tone.

Jihoon chews on his bottom lip and nods.

For a few breaths, Soonyoung regards him without saying a word. His brow furrows as he lifts an accusatory finger in Jihoon’s direction.

“Different like he has a cool haircut or different like his ass looks great in a suit?” Soonyoung asks.

Rolling his eyes, Jihoon returns his eyes to his tablet. Soonyoung’s gaze is unrelenting, and in the silence that follows, Jihoon can only begin to imagine what kind of things Soonyoung might be assuming. He knows his silence isn’t helping, but he honestly doubts he can say anything to improve the situation.

“You were totally checking him out,” Soonyoung says. When Jihoon remains quiet, Soonyoung groans and leans back in his seat.

“God, you’re a fucking lost cause,” Soonyoung mutters, covering his face with his hands. “What greater power did you piss off, honestly?”

“I don’t know. It’ll be my boss if I don’t finish this report, though.”

Soonyoung waves a hand at him and gets to his feet. “Then I guess you ought to keep your head out of the gutter long enough to focus,” he says, and as he passes by Jihoon’s seat, he pats Jihoon’s head. “You could always call him, you know.”

Jihoon twists his head around to squint up at Soonyoung.

“I _could_ ,” Jihoon says, “but then hell would freeze over and the locusts would descend upon us in a hellish plague.”

Soonyoung rolls his eyes, but then he crouches and folds his arms behind his back, bent at the elbow with his wrists resting on his kidneys.

“Like this?” Soonyoung asks. He hops around the living room for a bit before shuffling up to Jihoon’s side. He cocks his head back and forth until Jihoon hits him, and then he jumps back and starts hissing.

“I’d say that’s more like a cat missing its front legs,” Jihoon comments, turning back to his computer. “Four out of ten.”

“Aw, boo.”

“Go away, Soonyoung.”

“How about—” Soonyoung cuts himself off to try different pitches of buzzing noises. “That? Or how about—”

On Soonyoung’s fourth try, Jihoon spins around in his seat. Just as he opens his mouth to kindly request that Soonyoung shut up and fuck off, Soonyoung skips back, grinning widely.

“What are you now?” Jihoon asks, taking the bait.

“Guess.”

“An idiot?”

Soonyoung clicks his tongue and shakes his head. “I walked right into that one,” he says.

Jihoon manages a wry smile.

Instead of posing as a new creature, Soonyoung plops onto his ass with a muted _thud_. Jihoon lifts an eyebrow as Soonyoung begins to somersault away.

“Um?” Jihoon asks the retreating form.

“I forgot!” Soonyoung replies, his voice trailing off as he escapes through the nearest doorway.

Well, that was a fun distraction. It served about the same purpose as Jihoon’s not-so-innocent thoughts about Seungcheol’s body, but he appreciates the effort.

With a sigh, Jihoon tabs over to kakaotalk and opens his conversation with Seungcheol. Jihoon was the last one to text, so really, it’s no longer his responsibility to maintain the conversation. It’s been months since they last voluntarily contacted each other—that should be some sort of sign, right?

That’s what Jihoon tells himself to keep his overly-curious thoughts at bay. It’s enough to get him through the report without too much dalliance, at least.

 

* * *

 

“Soonyoung.”

“That’s me,” his roommate replies over the phone, a sigh evident in his tone. “This couldn’t wait until later? You know I’m at work right now.”

“No, it couldn’t. As my roommate, you really need to know, like right now immediately.”

Jihoon clasps his phone to his ear like a precious artifact. His legs are drawn to his chest and his back rests against the corner of his room; he’s tucked tightly in the furthermost corner of his bed, trying not to burst into flame.

“Okay, that’s definitely the opposite of reassuring.” Soonyoung allows himself the sigh this time. “Hold on.”

Jihoon can hear him call for a break—next come the footsteps and the change in ambient noise that signal his exit from the studio.

“Are you home?” Soonyoung asks. “Do you want me to come up for a sec?”

Jihoon shakes his head, though he knows Soonyoung can’t see him. His nervous energy needs to be expended somehow.

“It’s fine, but I just—” Jihoon inhales sharply. “They want me to move.”

“‘They’? Who’re ‘they’?”

“Work,” Jihoon says simply. “This morning, they… I was called to my supervisor’s office, which is, you know, already a little nerve-wracking. Turns out I wasn’t getting fired, but… promoted?”

“Yeah?” Soonyoung prompts.

Jihoon swallows and nods to himself. “Yeah. They’re offering to make me head manager at the broadcast station near the university.”

“Oh, that’s far.”

“Yeah, which is why I’m calling you. Obviously I’m not gonna leave you without a roommate or anything.”

“Ah… How kind of you.” Soonyoung puffs a breath against the receiver. “Alright. How long do you have to make a decision?”

“Until the end of the month.”

“Not bad, not bad.” Soonyoung hums. “Well, thanks for letting me know.”

Jihoon listens to Soonyoung’s breathing on the other end of the line.

“Was there…” Soonyoung trails off. “Are you okay?”

“To be honest? I don’t know,” Jihoon says. He pulls at his blankets with his free hand. “I really want to take it, but I also don’t know if I want to move.”

He’s lived at this apartment for years. Moving is stressful, and who knows if he’ll be able to find a decent place. Sure, his pay will go up, but if his rent goes up, too, then it’ll mean nothing.

Jihoon uncurls his body and sighs.

“I need to think about it,” he says, “but I just thought you should know. Sorry for interrupting work.”

“It was important; it’s okay.” Soonyoung pauses. “Maybe we ought to take a trip there soon.”

A small smile tugs at Jihoon’s mouth. “You gonna treat me to dinner?”

“What, do you think I’m made of money?”

“How about this—let’s make a bet.”

“I’m listening.”

“You know that arcade down the street?”

Soonyoung whistles. “What’s it gonna be, the dance machine or the basketball game?”

“Guess.”

Soonyoung laughs. “Man,” he says, “it’s been so long since I’ve used that dance machine! You’re on!”

“Cool. I’ll see you later, then.”

“Yeah. Ciao.”

Soonyoung hangs up. Jihoon lowers his phone and watches as the call dies out. Then he opens up his map app and browses the restaurants near the broadcast station.

 

* * *

 

When Seungcheol waits for his apartment building’s garage door to pull up, he glances at a moving truck a few blocks over. A kid and his brother seem to be fighting over something; Seungcheol doesn’t have time to contemplate it once the door finally opens up enough to let his car in.

Later in the evening, he goes to the local burger joint to grab dinner and sees that the truck is still there. The kid from earlier has the sleeves of his oversized sweater rolled up to his elbows, and holy shit that’s not some kid, that’s Jihoon.

Seungcheol almost drops his dinner as he stands right outside the burger joint’s door. What the hell is Jihoon doing here and why is he moving in so nearby?

Seungcheol hurries home and opens his apartment door with a crash.

“Jisoo!” he cries.

Jisoo pops his head out of his bedroom door, his phone in his hands. “Yeah?” he asks.

“You’re not gonna fucking believe this!”

“Okay, hold up,” Jisoo says as he opens his door all the way. Without standing, he wheels his desk chair out into the living room and crosses one leg over the other. “Okay, I’m ready.” He cocks his head to the side. “What’s got you all riled up?”

“Jihoon’s moving into the building down the street!” Seungcheol cries.

First, Jisoo’s brow furrows. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but in the end, he can’t think of anything to say. Seungcheol gestures wildly at him from across the room.

“What the hell!” Seungcheol exclaims.

Jisoo finally finds his tongue and says, “Are you sure it’s really him?”

Seungcheol droops a bit at that. “No,” he says slowly. “No, I’m not. Hmm.”

Jisoo waves a hand at him and begins to roll his chair back into his room.

“Go make sure, then,” he calls, and then he closes his bedroom door.

Still, Seungcheol’s glad Jisoo doesn’t hold him up. He grabs a handful of fries and shoves them into his mouth before making his way back down the stairs.

When he arrives at the moving truck, Seungcheol is out of breath. He feels a little suspicious, observing the truck from behind a street lamp, but he can’t risk proceeding without making sure that it really was Jihoon he saw. For all he knows, it could just be a fever dream.

“That took forever,” says a distant voice. Seungcheol’s eyes track down the speaker and hesitantly identifies him as Kwon Soonyoung.

The kid (?) in the oversized sweater reaches up to pull at the truck’s backdoor. Soonyoung chuckles and stretches past his friend’s reach, grabbing the metal handle and pulling down the door with a well-oiled slide of metal on metal.

“Wow, fucking brag about it, why don’t you?” says the shorter man. Soonyoung laughs.

Seungcheol’s breath catches in his throat. It’s him. It’s Jihoon.

Taking a deep breath, Seungcheol smooths his hair out of his face. He pulls out his phone to double-check his appearance, then he steps out of the streetlight’s shadow and begins his approach.

There are still plenty of boxes next to the moving truck. This is it—this is his opportunity to make a good impression, maybe even flex his muscles a bit. He’ll offer to help them and start repairing the bridge between him and Jihoon.

“Lee Jihoon!” Seungcheol calls. He immediately tries not to wince at the volume of his own voice.

Both Soonyoung and Jihoon look up. Seungcheol jogs over, wearing a bright smile.

“Choi Seungcheol,” Jihoon replies, the name slow on his tongue like a foreign language. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Soonyoung glances between Jihoon and Seungcheol before taking a step back. Jihoon sticks a hand out to catch him, but Soonyoung’s too fast; he grabs a nearby box and darts into the building.

“I live just down there,” Seungcheol says, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. “I saw your moving truck as I was getting dinner from that burger place over there,” he pauses to point it out, “and thought I’d offer some help.”

Jihoon chews on his lip. Seungcheol tries not to stare and fails horribly.

“Okay,” Jihoon says, and that slowness from earlier continues to plague his mouth, “I accept your help, Choi Seungcheol.”

“Awesome,” Seungcheol replies. He internally kicks himself for his blatant display of enthusiasm, but he tries to compensate by moving on as quickly as possible.

There are stacks of boxes littered all over the sidewalk. Seungcheol approaches the biggest one and crouches next to it.

“How’s this?” he asks.

Jihoon quirks an eyebrow. “Now you’re just trying to show off,” Jihoon responds.

Seungcheol gives him a wry grin, then he rolls up his sleeves. “If I were trying to show off,” he says, “I wouldn’t have bothered with a shirt.”

Jihoon’s other eyebrow joins the first under his bangs. “It’s like fifteen degrees out,” he says.

“Oh, I know.” Seungcheol drums his fingertips over the top of the box and his grin takes on a more impish quality. “So, is this one okay or not?”

Jihoon waves a hand at him with a loose wrist and says, “Yeah, sure, whatever. Knock yourself out.”

Lifting his chosen box is easy work. Considering that neither Jihoon nor Soonyoung would have anticipated Seungcheol’s help, they probably packed the box for their ease of transport. This’ll be a cinch.

Seungcheol stacks another box onto the one currently in his hands.

“You sure about that?” Jihoon asks. There’s a tiny hint of concern in his voice; Seungcheol might just melt on the spot. Instead, he throws Jihoon a grin over his shoulder.

“Yeah, no problem here, Jihoonie,” he says, making sure to lay it on especially thick.

Jihoon comes up behind him with his own box. He bumps it into Seungcheol’s back and hums when Seungcheol doesn’t budge.

“Just checking,” Jihoon says, wearing a small smile. He begins up the stairs to the building and adds, “Come on, follow me.”

As they wait for the elevator, Jihoon sets his box down with a sigh. He pulls out his phone and begins typing; Seungcheol can’t see what he’s doing and doesn’t bother trying to get a better look.

Instead, Seungcheol’s eyes trail down Jihoon’s figure, but he keeps his head forward to avoid appearing too conspicuous. Jihoon’s wearing a worn sweater to fend off the early autumn chill; it is definitely a few sizes too big for him. At some time over the course of the day, he rolled down his sleeves, and his thumbs stick out of man-made holes in the sleeve cuffs. His fingers fall just past the ends of the sleeves.

Seungcheol’s eyes drop lower as the elevator continues to beep. Jihoon’s sweater falls below his ass—unfortunately—but Seungcheol can see the curve of Jihoon’s thighs in his black sweatpants. Jihoon doesn’t look any bigger or smaller than Seungcheol remembers, and Seungcheol’s glad that he hasn’t been eating any less.

The elevator doors open. Jihoon slips his phone back into his pocket and heaves his box inside.

“It’s been pretty fucking annoying,” Jihoon starts as he pushes the button for the fourth floor, “since we’re just too high to take the stairs, but the elevator takes a little too long to come and go. I can’t believe we’ve been doing this all day.”

“Well, hopefully I can help speed things along,” Seungcheol replies with an easy smile.

Jihoon looks up at him. The circles under Jihoon’s eyes are darker now, and the lines of his face are starker, too. Still, the pinks of his cheeks and lips paint a pretty picture that Seungcheol wants to frame and hang up on a wall; that much hasn’t changed.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says with some hesitation, lowering his head again. “Thanks.”

“I’m just trying to be a good neighbour,” Seungcheol chimes.

The elevator door open with a _ding_. With a huff of breath, Jihoon hoists his box into his arms and heads off to his apartment.

“Number 405,” he says, turning the corner. “It’s nothing too exciting, either, so don’t get hyped up or anything.”

“Well, you just moved in. Obviously it’s not gonna be at its full potential yet.”

Jihoon squints up at Seungcheol as he puts his key in the lock.

“You haven’t really changed, have you?” Jihoon asks. The curl of his lips tells Seungcheol he means no harm, at least; Seungcheol just shrugs.

“It’s the little things,” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon hums. “You know what, you’re right,” Jihoon says, shouldering the door open.

Seungcheol’s usual response to that—insinuating that Jihoon’s talking dirty to him—hangs on the tip of his tongue, but it’s hardly appropriate now. Instead of speaking, Seungcheol keeps his mouth shut and shuffles into the apartment.

“Where do you want these?” Seungcheol asks.

“You made him carry _two_?” Soonyoung asks, popping into sight. He shoves his phone and his hands into his pockets and regards the newly-entered pair with raised eyebrows.

“I didn’t make him do anything,” Jihoon replies without looking up. He drops his box in the kitchen and gestures for Seungcheol to follow him. “I’m pretty sure he’s just trying to show off.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Seungcheol whines, but he does as Jihoon wants and follows him into the kitchen.

Jihoon points at a spot on the floor and Seungcheol sets the boxes down. Once the boxes are settled, he straightens up and stretches. His shirt rides up just a little, and he holds the pose for a second longer than necessary.

When Seungcheol lowers his arms, he catches Jihoon’s eyes flickering upwards. Gotcha.

“Round two?” Seungcheol asks.

“Let’s go,” Jihoon says in English. Seungcheol laughs as he follows along.

Soonyoung trails behind them. When there’s a good distance between Seungcheol and Jihoon, Soonyoung approaches Seungcheol and gives his shoulder a good pat.

“You look well, hyung,” Soonyoung says. “Have you eaten yet?”

“Ah,” Seungcheol says, “about that.”

“Yeah?”

“Well—” Seungcheol sighs before continuing. “I had a few fries before coming over, if that counts?”

Frowning, Soonyoung tugs on Seungcheol’s wrist. “Hyung,” he says, and although the word communicates almost nothing, his tone is enough to display his concern. “Let’s go eat when we’re done with the boxes,” he continues.

Seungcheol shrugs. “It’s… late,” he says. He knows it’s a flimsy excuse, and of all things, rejecting dinner doesn’t give the best impression. But he’s unsure if he can handle dinner with just Soonyoung and Jihoon: not only would he be third-wheeling big time, he would also have to share a meal with Jihoon again. It feels a little too intimate for their first time meeting properly after all these years.

Although Soonyoung’s frown remains, he backs off, letting go of Seungcheol’s wrist.

“Maybe another time, then,” he says. He offers Seungcheol a wide smile.

Seungcheol smiles back. “Definitely.”

Moving the rest of the boxes into the apartment isn’t particularly strenuous—but Jihoon’s complaint proves true when they blow almost an hour taking the elevator up and down. Seungcheol can’t find it in himself to care too much, though; the continuous trips give him an opportunity to see Jihoon move around in his natural habitat.

And yeah, maybe seeing Jihoon move around boxes while huffing and puffing encourages some less-than-innocent thoughts. But he’s allowed to indulge himself while he’s doing Jihoon a favour, right?

Eventually, Jihoon ditches the sweater. He’s wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath it, and he alternates between rolling up the sleeves and letting them down. It’s easy for Seungcheol to imagine that Jihoon had taken off this shirt, too; his imagination fills in the blanks, fills in the space of the baggy shirt that bunches up as he moves boxes around. And, well, while he’s at it, he might as well magic the pants off, too.

He wonders if Jihoon has become soft in the past years. He wonders if Jihoon has gained or lost any new curves and edges. He wonders if Jihoon makes different noises when touched in all the right places; he wonders if those places have changed.

But if there’s one thing he’s sure of, wild imagination notwithstanding, it’s that he wants to find out.

His brain threatens to short circuit when Jihoon glances at him with his tongue poking out between his lips, his cheeks flushed and his breath falling out of his mouth at a quick pace. Jihoon’s tongue slides from one side of his mouth to the other, wetting his lips, and then Jihoon’s facing away from him again, tucking something into a corner of some room. Seungcheol stopped paying attention the second Jihoon’s eyes met his own.

At around 10PM, they finally finish bringing everything upstairs. Jihoon pulls down his sleeves for the nth time, seated upon the couch they’d brought up and set down haphazardly, and regards Seungcheol with a fairly blank expression. Seungcheol tries to read into it—honestly, he gives it his best shot—before deciding he’s stared long and hard enough at Jihoon the entire night.

“Seungcheol-hyung,” he says. His eyes flicker downwards for a second. “Thanks… really. Thanks for all this. You really didn’t have to.”

Seungcheol smiles at him. “I wanted to, though,” he replies.

A touch of pink creeps onto Jihoon’s face. “Kissass,” he snarks, and Seungcheol laughs.

Soonyoung pops back into the room and drapes his arms over the back of the couch. A pang of jealousy bounces in Seungcheol’s chest as Soonyoung plays with Jihoon’s hair.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get dinner, hyung?” Soonyoung asks. Once he mentions food, Jihoon nods vigorously.

“It’s the least we can do since you helped us so much,” Jihoon adds. His eyes are too earnest for Seungcheol to swallow; his heart hammers in his chest, harder than it had during the entirety of the moving process, where he’d been moving boxes around.

Shrugging, Seungcheol replies, “It’s fine. It’s getting late, anyway, and there are still some things I need to finish up at home, so…”

Jihoon’s brow furrows, but he doesn’t protest. His gaze lingers on Seungcheol before he glances away to look at the time displayed on their cable box.

“Ah, shit,” Jihoon grumbles, “it’s already this late?”

Seungcheol laughs. “Right? Imagine how late it’d be if I wasn’t here,” he says.

Soonyoung crosses the room to envelop Seungcheol in a warm hug. Seungcheol returns the gesture with ease.

When Soonyoung pulls away, he smiles and says, “Get home safe, okay?”

Seungcheol ruffles Soonyoung’s hair. “I’ll try my best not to get hurt in the five minute walk over,” he says, grinning.

Jihoon gets to his feet. One of his hands disappear behind Soonyoung’s back, and the other pulls his sleeve over his fingers.

“I’ll walk you back,” Jihoon says. It’s not an offer or a request; Seungcheol doesn’t even consider saying no. He just smiles and nods.

“Sure,” Seungcheol says. He walks over to the door and bows his head in Soonyoung’s direction. “I’ll see you later, Soonyoungie.”

“Bye!”

When they exit, Jihoon locks the door. He walks them both over to the elevator.

“You shouldn’t have come over to help without eating first,” Jihoon says without looking up.

Seungcheol snorts. “Too late for that,” he replies.

Jihoon snorts, too. “Fine,” he dismisses, and the elevator doors open.

Inside the elevator, Seungcheol can feel Jihoon’s body heat seeping into the space between them. It only serves to emphasize the distance between them, and Seungcheol’s torn between trying to test the limits of that distance and staying comfortable in his lane.

He doesn’t have enough time to think about it; the elevator doors open again before he can make a decision.

“I guess this makes it even,” Seungcheol muses as they step into the night air, “since now you’ll be seeing where I live.”

Jihoon only hums in response. His attention strays to their surroundings, and his head turns as he glances around.

“You didn’t end up too far from the university, huh?” Jihoon asks.

Seungcheol shrugs. “Yeah, I guess,” he replies. “Haven’t really thought about it.”

Jihoon hums again.

As they continue down the sidewalk, Jihoon shivers; he forgot to grab his sweater on the way out. He grabs at his arms with both hands, rubbing his skin through the fabric.

For a second, Seungcheol thinks of offering his own sweater, but he grabs the thought by the throat and throws it out the window. Too soon. Too much, too soon, too forward—which is characteristic for him, he thinks, but it’s not worth the risk of rejection. Not this early in the game.

Silence settles between them and panic blooms under Seungcheol’s skin. This is why they stopped talking. This is why they drifted. Seungcheol doesn’t know how to act around Jihoon anymore, not without some task or objective to reach—now that it’s just the two of them alone with their thoughts, their intentions, he’s lost his footing and he can only stumble.

When Seungcheol glances at Jihoon again, Jihoon has his eyes on his phone, typing with one hand. Seungcheol’s panic flares again— _god, how boring am I?_ —before he reins it in with a steadying breath.

It’s fine. Jihoon offered to walk with him—no, he insisted. Right?

They pass by the burger place Seungcheol grabbed dinner from earlier. Seungcheol gestures to it, and Jihoon looks up immediately.

“I like this place,” Seungcheol says, trying not to wince at the non sequitur, “and they’re open late, so I get food here more often than I should.”

Seungcheol readies a laugh in case Jihoon doesn’t reply in a timely manner.

“It’s good?” Jihoon asks. Thank god.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol replies. “Plus it’s convenient, so. Really scored with that one.”

Jihoon hums. “Good to know,” he says, returning to his phone.

Seungcheol swallows the sudden lump in his throat as the silence returns. Fun times with Lee Jihoon, just as he should have expected.

When they pull up to Seungcheol’s apartment building, Seungcheol shoves his hands into his pockets and rocks on the balls of his feet. Jihoon has stopped messing with his phone in favour of covering his hands with his sleeves. When they stop, he looks up at Seungcheol with a questioning expression.

“This it?” Jihoon asks.

“Yeah,” Seungcheol replies. “You don’t need to come up with me or anything.”

Jihoon snorts and nods like he wasn’t planning on offering anyway.

“Well,” Jihoon starts. The word has more weight to it than it ought to, than it deserves to, and Seungcheol stops bouncing around. Jihoon cracks a wry smile and pats Seungcheol on the arm with his too-long sleeve. “It was… good to see you.”

“That’s convincing,” Seungcheol says.

Jihoon’s smile twists; he seems more than ready to laugh at himself. “Aren’t I always?” he asks around that crooked smile.

Seungcheol chuckles. It’s not forced, and he’s beyond thankful for that.

“Well, _I_ thought it was good to see you,” Seungcheol states. His own smile stretches into something not quite mirthful, but not quite sardonic, either. “A pleasant surprise, to say the least.”

“I guess that is one way to put it.” Jihoon pulls his arm back and tugs on the sleeve with the opposite hand. “I’ll see you around?” he says, though it sounds like a question he’s not sure how to pose.

“I’m sure,” Seungcheol replies. Jihoon smiles at that, at least.

“Goodnight, then,” Jihoon says, bowing his head.

“Goodnight, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol says.

They exchange waves before Seungcheol ducks into the building.

 

* * *

 

They don’t see each other for another two weeks. They don’t even text. Jihoon’s move doesn’t change the fact that neither of them know how to approach each other.

Seungcheol runs a hand through his hair as he enters the local burger joint. It’s around 11PM on a Thursday night and he still has some reports to finish up, but damn it, he’s hungry. If he’s gonna stay up any longer, he might as well be running on some greasy food instead of nothing at all.

Jisoo might have something to say about the takeout containers tomorrow, but fuck it.

As Seungcheol waits for his order, Jihoon walks around the counter to wait, too. Seungcheol holds his breath and waits for Jihoon to turn around and see him.

When Jihoon meets his eyes, he gives a little wave with a too-long sleeve.

Seungcheol can’t be the one to approach, not this time. Jihoon turns back towards the counter after giving Seungcheol a small smile.

As Seungcheol goes to grab his bag full of bad decisions, Jihoon taps delicate fingers against Seungcheol’s forearm.

“Hyung,” he says, “are you—” he stops and tries again. “Do you want to eat with me?”

Jihoon’s brow is tight but not quite furrowed. It’s not exactly warm and welcoming; Seungcheol appreciates the effort nonetheless.

Seungcheol thinks of the work he left at home. He thinks of checking the time. He thinks of how much sleep he can get if he goes home right now.

“Yeah, that’d be nice,” he answers.

Jihoon smiles at him before leading him to a booth by the window.

As Jihoon pulls out his food, he glances up at Seungcheol and says, “You’re out late, hm?”

“I could say the same to you,” Seungcheol replies with a teasing smile.

“You know me, I like to work late,” Jihoon says. He wrinkles his nose for a second, but the expression passes as he continues to unwrap his food.

Seungcheol snorts. “It’s more like you don’t know how to stop working.”

A smile tugs at Jihoon’s mouth. “Fine,” he says, tired amusement lacing his tone, “got me there.” Jihoon plays with the wrapper of his burger and continues, “I never really outgrew that.”

“If it works for you, then it works for you,” Seungcheol says with a shrug. Unlike Jihoon, he gets right into eating. He tries his best not to be too messy, but burgers don’t really give you that luxury.

When Seungcheol looks up again, Jihoon is wearing a crooked smile as he holds out a wad of napkins.

“Don’t forget to breathe, hyung,” he says around a chuckle.

Seungcheol pouts. Jihoon waves the napkins in front of Seungcheol’s face until he takes them.

“Don’t baby me,” Seungcheol whines as he wipes at his chin.

“You make it too easy,” Jihoon coos.

“I’m older than you! I demand respect!”

Jihoon grins. “You missed a spot,” he says. He licks his thumb and leans across the table to wipe some sauce off Seungcheol’s cheek. When he’s satisfied, Jihoon leans back and nods to himself.

Seungcheol continues to pout. Jihoon smiles sweetly.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he says, eyes curved, “ _hyung_.”

Sighing, Seungcheol wipes at his face one more time, just to make sure. Jihoon seems content to finally dig into his food. As he eats, Seungcheol watches him carefully, grabbing a few napkins in preparation.

When Jihoon looks up again, Seungcheol shoots forward and pats at Jihoon’s face.

“Seungcheol!” he squawks.

“Revenge!” Seungcheol cries in response.

He’s not even wiping. He’s attacking Jihoon at this point.

Whining, Jihoon kicks Seungcheol under the table. The sudden contact is enough to distract Seungcheol, and Jihoon swats his arm away.

“Wow,” Jihoon starts, lifting an eyebrow at the man sitting across from him, “way to ‘demand respect’. How old are you again?”

Seungcheol beams at Jihoon like he’s proud of earning a bruise on his shin.

“Twenty-eight,” he declares. Jihoon rolls his eyes.

“You’re gonna be thirty in two years,” Jihoon says, hints of awe colouring his tone. “That’s _so_ old.”

“Well, you’ll be thirty in three years!”

“Yeah, but that’s so far away in comparison.”

Jihoon grins. Seungcheol rolls his eyes.

They finish up their food without any more fuss. Seungcheol rubs at his leg under the table, and Jihoon’s eyes drop to follow the movement.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, playing with his food wrappers again. “Did I hit you hard?”

Seungcheol shrugs. “Nah,” he replies. He’ll have to evaluate the damage in the morning, or at least when he can take off his pants. Jihoon’s concern warms him nonetheless, so he milks it for a little longer, wincing as he returns his hand to the table.

For a second, Jihoon doesn’t say anything. Then, his eyes narrow.

“You’ve never been good at lying,” Jihoon says. His mouth curves just slightly. “Should I kick you again just to make sure?”

“God, you’re being so mean to me today,” Seungcheol sighs, deflating in his seat. He balls up his food wrappers and throws them into his paper bag. “Is it because I didn’t treat you? It’s not like we planned this or anything.”

“I’m sure I’ve been worse to you.”

Seungcheol snorts. That’s an invitation to make this nasty, and he’s not eager to take it at all. That’s Jihoon’s specialty, he thinks—escalating things to heights that are entirely possible to avoid. But enabling Jihoon might just be Seungcheol’s specialty in turn.

“That’s not something to be proud of, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol replies. He knocks Jihoon’s foot under the table, though without any real malice.

Jihoon shrugs. “I’m just saying.”

Seungcheol chews on the straw of his cola and regards his companion for a breath or two. Jihoon stares back at him and cocks his head.

_I missed this_ , Seungcheol thinks. Instead of saying anything, he keeps drinking until there’s only ice left at the bottom of his cup. He moves onto sucking in air and the noise has Jihoon rolling his eyes.

“Well, this was fun, but you’re getting annoying, so,” Jihoon says, standing. He collects all the garbage at the table and walks off to get rid of it.

Seungcheol gets to his feet and trails behind Jihoon despite the fact that Jihoon turns around to walk back to their table. As a result, Jihoon almost walks right into him.

“I swear you do that on purpose,” Jihoon mutters, patting Seungcheol’s chest with the hand he used to brace himself for any incoming impact. The touch seems to linger—Jihoon’s hand presses flat against Seungcheol’s chest for a second longer than necessary—and Seungcheol would smirk if he knew he could get away with it.

He doesn’t think he can, though, so he keeps his expression neutral.

“I really don’t, honestly,” Seungcheol replies. It’s mostly true. Jihoon just has a bad habit of not watching where he’s going.

“Whatever.” Jihoon drops his hand and shoves it into his pocket.

They exit the shop together. Once outside, Seungcheol takes a deep breath of the cool night air. Jihoon looks up at him and quirks a brow.

“I’ll see you around, I guess,” Jihoon says. He gives a two fingered wave and heads off.

“Not even a bow, huh?” Seungcheol asks Jihoon’s retreating back.

Jihoon turns and, while walking backwards, gives Seungcheol a bow with a flourish of his hand.

“Bye!” Seungcheol calls. He catches a glimpse of Jihoon’s responding smile before Jihoon turns around again.

There’s a spring in Seungcheol’s step as he makes his way back to his apartment. While he may have killed precious working time, at least Jisoo wouldn’t see the evidence of his late-night eating.

 

* * *

 

Going for an early-morning run in October might be considered excessive to some, but Seungcheol loves the cool weather. It’s refreshing, in his opinion, and contrasts well against the warmth of his body’s exertion.

As he makes his rounds through sleepy downtown, a small figure jogs past him. Seungcheol pays the person no attention until he recognizes the sweater that falls past its wearer’s ass. It’s SHINee merchandise, and he used to have something exactly like that in college until he gave it to his boyfriend at the time.

Seungcheol picks up the pace. As he approaches the other runner, he realizes that it’s his old sweater and that the runner is his old boyfriend.

Small world. It seems especially small these days, now that they live so close to each other; he keeps forgetting that Jihoon lives so nearby, especially since they still don’t maintain any regular communication.

There’s nothing like a little friendly competition to make things interesting. Seungcheol hopes Jihoon will take the bait—and at this point, he thinks his track record works in his favour.

Seungcheol speeds up just enough to overtake Jihoon on the sidewalk. While he doesn’t turn to engage Jihoon, he smiles at the streets before him with the knowledge that Jihoon can, in fact, see him.

Above them, the streetlamps cast yellow light that creates elongated shadows on the sidewalk. Seungcheol watches his and Jihoon’s merge as Jihoon picks up the pace.

In turn, Seungcheol takes longer strides. While they’ve never gone running together, not for the sake of fitness, Jihoon always got on his case for his long steps.

_“Not all of us are freakishly tall, Cheol,”_ he’d gripe. Sometimes he’d even grab at Seungcheol’s clothes to slow him down, not unlike a child.

Seungcheol turns the corner and sees Jihoon’s shadow lag behind. The residential area they enter has even less light, but now he can see the orange rays of sun start to creep over the horizon.

He finally stops when a traffic light gives him no other choice. Behind him, he can hear Jihoon’s harsh breathing.

“Good morning,” Seungcheol beams around his own affected breath.

Jihoon stares up at him and combs his hair out of his eyes with his fingers. It sticks up, slick with sweat.

“Yeah,” is all Jihoon says for a while. He takes a few steadying breaths, his eyes straying below Seungcheol’s gaze. With one final exhale, he straightens up and puts on a wry smile. “Morning.”

“Fancy bumping into you here,” Seungcheol says.

“You sure about that this time?” Jihoon asks. His smile stretches into a grin.

“Well, I never knew you were a morning jog type of guy,” Seungcheol replies. He had no idea Jihoon had the capacity to wake up earlier than 8AM on a work day.

Jihoon shrugs. “I need the exercise. Plus, if you go out early enough, there aren’t a lot of people out,” Jihoon explains. “Sometimes it’s just other runners, or elderly folk, or whatever. The quiet is nice.”

Seungcheol gestures at the earbuds hanging out of the hole of Jihoon’s—previously Seungcheol’s—hoodie. “Are you really enjoying the quiet if you’re listening to music?”

“Means I don’t have to put up the volume too high.”

“True.” Seungcheol puts his hands into his pockets, hiding them from the cold that has started to settle now that he has stopped moving. He gestures at Jihoon with his chin and grins. “Nice sweater, by the way,” he adds.

Jihoon lifts an eyebrow. He looks down at his sweater and pulls at the hem, trying to get a better look.

“This old thing?” Jihoon asks. “It’s—” a small gasp interrupts his sentence as he drops the hem from his grip. He looks up at Seungcheol with wide eyes.

“Oh my god,” Jihoon says.

Seungcheol laughs and pats Jihoon on his shoulder.

“Glad to see it’s still getting some love,” Seungcheol says, though his uneven breaths chop up his words.

Jihoon gapes at Seungcheol for a moment or two. In the end, he can’t think of anything worth saying and he settles on covering his eyes with a hand.

“I totally forgot,” Jihoon groans. He picks at the sweater with two fingers, drops it, then repeats the action a few times. “I own a lot of big sweaters,” he continues, refusing to look up, “so, you know. Totally slipped my mind.”

Seungcheol laughs again. Grinning, he slings an arm around Jihoon’s neck and pulls him in. Jihoon squawks in response, resisting the pull, though without too much strength. Seungcheol knows that Jihoon could free himself if he really wanted to, but Jihoon lets Seungcheol manhandle him for a bit.

“I’m not telling you to get rid of it,” Seungcheol says as he ruffles Jihoon’s hair.

Jihoon swats at the hand on his head. “I know,” he huffs, “but maybe I’ll start wearing it less often.”

“Oh?” Seungcheol removes his hands from Jihoon’s body, but not before turning him around so that they’re facing each other. This time, Jihoon doesn’t shy away from Seungcheol’s gaze; a pout pulls at Jihoon’s mouth nonetheless. “You wear it often?” Seungcheol continues.

Jihoon’s cheeks are a faint pink. The rising sun colours him in orange, and the warm colours suit his dark eyes.

“Maybe,” Jihoon mutters. He shakes his arms until the sleeves fall over his fingers. “It’s comfortable,” he says.

“So maybe you should keep wearing it,” Seungcheol says. He can’t stop grinning.

“Maybe,” Jihoon replies. He turns and takes a few steps in the direction from which they came, his sleeves swinging by his side. Wordlessly, Seungcheol follows him.

Jihoon looks over his shoulder and levels a small smile in Seungcheol’s direction. “Race you back,” he says.

Seungcheol grins again. “You’re on.”

 

* * *

 

Friday night. Jihoon shivers, affected by the November cold—god, his birthday is coming up soon; he’s getting old—and his fingers stutter against his phone. Part of that can be blamed on the cold, though the rest of it probably has to do with the state of his inebriety. With some effort, he opens up his contact list.

“...Hello?”

The person on the other line sounds confused, just as Jihoon expected. Still, he picked up, didn’t he?

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon says into the receiver. His voice comes out louder than he wants it to, but he can’t figure out how to keep the volume down. “Come pick me up.”

“What? Jihoon? Why—”

“Soonyoungie has work tomorrow,” Jihoon explains. “Don’t want to wake him up.”

Seungcheol snorts. “You don’t think I have things to do tomorrow?”

Jihoon grins at no one. “Come on, Seungcheollie,” Jihoon coos, “you work nine to five. You have weekends free. You’ve got the luxury of a regular schedule.”

For a moment, the other end of the line is quiet. Eventually, Seungcheol sighs and says, “Fine. Got me there. Where are you?”

“I’ll text you the address.”

Jihoon accidentally ends the call when he opens kakaotalk. Oops. It takes a few tries to spell the address correctly—or at least with a comprehensible amount of typos. He’s not fit to judge right now, so he sends multiple texts.

2023-11-08  
**[Seungcheol]:** **  
** (2:55AM) _are you drunk?_

2023-11-08  
**[Jihoon]:**   
(2:55AM) _no_   
(2:56AM) _maybe_ _  
_ (2:56AM) _i;m at a fcuking pub waht do you excpect_

2023-11-08  
**[Seungcheol]:**   
(2:58AM) _true. I’m driving now, so no more texts. See you soon_

Some part of Jihoon thought that sitting in the cold would help sober him up, but when Seungcheol pulls up at the curb, Jihoon jumps to his feet and bounds over to the passenger door. Wearing a goofy smile, he taps on the window.

The window rolls down and Seungcheol leans over. “The door’s unlocked,” he says. His eyes drift over Jihoon’s face, and Jihoon can’t help the giggles that escape his mouth.

It takes Jihoon a few tries to get his seatbelt on. Seungcheol leans over again, his hands hovering nearby in case Jihoon needs help.

Jihoon can still feel Seungcheol’s eyes on him even once he’s strapped in. In response, Jihoon turns to look at him. He smiles while holding his fingers in a V shape by his head.

“Hi,” he says, punctuating his greeting with a laugh.

Seungcheol’s gaze trail up and down Jihoon’s body. He sighs before turning his head and starting the engine. “God, you’re drunk,” he mutters.

“That’s me,” Jihoon giggles.

The car is quiet as they drive back to their neighbourhood. Seungcheol turns on the radio, but the low murmur of the music isn’t enough to relieve strain in the air between them. Jihoon taps his fingers against the car door along with the beat.

“I’m hungry,” Jihoon says.

Seungcheol glances over at him. “We can get some food on the way,” he replies.

Jihoon turns and stares at the driver. His eyes start from Seungcheol’s thighs, spread to accommodate the pedals, and work their way up slowly.

“Not _really_ what I’m hungry for,” Jihoon purrs. Though he glances up at Seungcheol’s expression for a second, he finds himself much more interested in the shape of Seungcheol’s waist. “Is your roommate home?” Jihoon asks.

“Wh-What?” Seungcheol responds. He doesn’t look away from the road this time.

“Your roommate,” Jihoon repeats. “What’s his name, Jisung? Ji-something? Whatever.” Jihoon leans closer to the driver’s seat. “You still work out? Ah, who am I kidding? Of course you do. Look at you.”

Seungcheol’s brow furrows. As the city lights pass over his face, his mouth twists, and Jihoon finds himself smirking.

“Even before we moved, like—you know, when I ended up at some fucking workshop _you_ happened to be doing, I thought, ‘holy fuck, he’s still so hot,’ like—what the fuck? That’s so unfair,” Jihoon whines. At this point, he’s outright staring at Seungcheol, recalling the images that he conjured up during that workshop. “It was already so fucked up that _you_ were doing the thingy, but like, that I had to sit there and watch you in that suit—like, it was tailored, wasn’t it? God, what the fuck?”

“You’re so fucking drunk,” Seungcheol mutters to himself under his breath. A blush is starting to seep into his ears and cheeks.

Jihoon shrugs. “Yeah,” he says easily, “I’m drunk, and you’re hot, so, like—do the math here, yeah?”

“What?” Seungcheol chances another glance in Jihoon’s direction. “Jihoon—I’m not having sex with you when you’re fucking wasted!”

“Huh?” Jihoon’s eyes widen in genuine shock. “What do you mean? Why not? Come on, Cheol-ah!”

Seungcheol chokes on a breath, caught between a laugh and something unintelligible. “Th-That’s not any way to address your elders, you know.”

“So what’d you rather I scream when we’re fucking?” Jihoon asks around a mouthful of giggles. “‘Ah, Seungcheol-hyung!’” he moans with a high degree of exaggeration.

“Jihoon-ah…” Seungcheol sighs, but his mouth curves in a small smile. “Come on. Don’t be like this. We can’t, not like this.”

“Don’t be so—like—” Jihoon gestures wildly with his hands, his too-long sleeves flapping about. “Don’t be all righteous and shit about this. It’s fine. It’s simple.”

They’ve pulled up in front of Jihoon’s apartment building, but neither of them budge.

“Seungcheol.” Jihoon leans over and puts a warm palm on Seungcheol’s thigh.

Slow with uncertainty and caution, Seungcheol turns his head to look at Jihoon. In response, Jihoon smiles up at him; the warm expression has echoes of familiarity, but Seungcheol can’t deny that the Jihoon sitting by his side isn’t the same man he used to bring to bed. The features of this smiling face are the same, but the composition is different, changed with years of distance, immeasurable time apart.

“You’re drunk,” Seungcheol mutters. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”

Jihoon’s hand slides higher along the length of Seungcheol’s thigh. Seungcheol swallows thickly.

“You want it, too,” Jihoon says. “I can tell. I’ve seen the way you look at me.”

“But that doesn’t make this right,” Seungcheol replies.

Sighing, Jihoon moves his hand to Seungcheol’s forearm. He lifts it and puts Seungcheol’s hand back on the gear stick.

“Take me home with you,” Jihoon says, nothing short of demanding.

“I could easily drag you out of this car and leave you on the curb,” Seungcheol says. His voice lacks conviction, full of empty aggression.

“But you won’t.” Jihoon leans over again and flutters his eyelashes. “Come on, Seungcheol.”

With a deep breath, Seungcheol taps his fingers against the steering wheel. Obviously Jihoon is right: there is no way in hell he would actually drag Jihoon out of his car. He’s not Jihoon’s mom or anything; Jihoon can do whatever he wants in whatever state of sobriety he’s in.

Still, it feels like Jihoon is asking a lot from him.

Seungcheol glances at Jihoon. In turn, Jihoon rubs a thumb over the back of Seungcheol’s hand.

Seungcheol has never been good at saying no to Jihoon.

“Fine,” Seungcheol sighs. “But don’t think this means I’m gonna do what you want.”

The sentiment is almost meaningless, considering that Seungcheol is doing what Jihoon wants right at that given moment.

The short drive to Seungcheol’s place is quiet. Pleased, Jihoon sits back in his seat and watches the streetlamps blink past.

Seungcheol sighs as his front door swings open. Jihoon scampers in, eager to check things out. Meanwhile, Seungcheol throws his keys into the bowl by the door and they land with a heavy clatter.

What the hell is he doing?

When Seungcheol looks up again, Jihoon has shed his thin jacket. It lies draped against the nearest chair. Seungcheol’s gaze darts over to Jihoon, who smiles widely in his direction.

“So,” Jihoon starts, rocking on the balls of his socked feet, “where’s your room?”

Seungcheol stalks over to the fridge.

“How about some water first?” he asks.

Jihoon deflates and flops over at the waist, his arms hanging loosely by his side. “Seungcheol,” he whines, wobbling back and forth.

Instead of saying anything, Seungcheol fills a glass of water anyway. When Jihoon looks over at him, Seungcheol waves the glass and lifts his eyebrows.

“Fine,” Jihoon says with a long sigh. He stalks over and gulps down half the glass. “Doesn’t help with my thirst, though,” he says once he pauses. He even manages a wink that’s closer to a spaced out blink, and Seungcheol can’t help but laugh.

“I don’t know if I can do anything about that,” Seungcheol replies. He only accepts the glass when it’s empty, and even then he fills it up halfway before offering it to Jihoon again.

It seems Jihoon is feeling more compliant this time around; he downs the water without a word. Once he finishes, he sets it on the closest flat surface. Then he goes for Seungcheol’s wrist and tugs.

“Are you done stalling?” Jihoon asks. His hand slips down, and he laces his fingers with Seungcheol’s. “Come on.”

When Seungcheol doesn’t do anything in response, Jihoon takes another step closer. He rests his free hand on Seungcheol’s chest and spreads out his fingers. He massages the firm flesh there, momentarily mesmerized, before sliding his hand up the column of Seungcheol’s neck.

“Wow,” he breathes. His fingers are delicate as they drift over the sharp curve of Seungcheol’s jaw. “Wow,” he repeats. “You’re—” He exhales, low and soft and filled with wonder.

“I’m?” Seungcheol asks. It’s a gut reaction—he’s curious about how that sentence ends and he hates it. He hates enabling this train of thought, he hates enabling the situation at all, but obviously he doesn’t hate it enough to do anything about it.

“You’re…” Jihoon laughs, breathless. “I don’t fucking know. Gorgeous? Might not do you justice.” His hand slides higher still, until his fingers find a home in Seungcheol’s hair. He angles Seungcheol’s head downward, but the force isn’t enough to do anything particularly interesting.

“You smell gross,” Seungcheol mutters..

“It’s just whiskey,” Jihoon murmurs in response, respecting the weight of the quiet that surrounds them. His thumb strokes over the hair at the nape of Seungcheol’s neck, measured and somehow soothing. He’s trying to lower Seungcheol’s defenses—of course. “You can have a taste, you know,” he adds.

“‘Just whiskey’,” Seungcheol parrots. “God. Go hard or go home, huh—and not even your own home. Someone else’s. Are you hearing yourself right now? You—”

Apparently, Jihoon has decided that Seungcheol talks too much. His lips are soft against Seungcheol’s; it’s hard to apply pressure when Seungcheol won’t bow his head and Jihoon has to compensate for their height difference by standing on his toes.

Still, the sudden contact is water crashing against a dam. With every second that passes, the barrier cracks and cracks until Seungcheol caves and bends to Jihoon’s will—and, in the depths of his gut, his own.

Seungcheol bends and feels Jihoon smile against his mouth. Mirth flutters in his chest for a second, incredulous and a bit guilty, but Jihoon pushes it away with a swipe of his tongue. Seungcheol gasps as warmth floods his blood.

“Want you,” Jihoon murmurs against Seungcheol’s mouth. His breath is shallow and quick, but Jihoon finds room to speak anyway. “Come on, Seungcheol.”

Somehow, it’s Jihoon’s voice that reaches the reasonable part of Seungcheol’s lizard brain. He pulls away with a sharp inhale.

“N-No, Jihoon,” Seungcheol says, cursing himself for faltering but being unable to do anything about it. He takes a step back, but Jihoon follows him. “You’re drunk,” Seungcheol continues. “You’re gonna regret this in the morning. I don’t know why you thought—” He stops and tries again: “Listen. Just hear me out here, okay?”

Jihoon takes another step closer and their chests touch. Seungcheol can feel Jihoon’s body heat burn through their clothes.

“Blah, blah, blah,” Jihoon cuts him off, advancing forward still; he stops only when their bodies are pressed flush together, Seungcheol’s back to the nearest kitchen counter. “Who cares? Let me deal with it in the morning.” He pushes his hips forward and Seungcheol hisses above him. “Maybe it’ll be awkward in the morning, but we’re always awkward. It’s not gonna be the end of the world or anything.”

“I don’t know what’s worse,” Seungcheol grumbles, “the fact that you’re this convincing while drunk or the fact that I’m being convinced at all.”

“Don’t blame it on yourself,” Jihoon replies with a wide grin, “blame it on your dick.” Jihoon rolls his hips and sighs, pleased. “Come on—” Jihoon grabs Seungcheol’s hands and relocates them to his ass. “Help me out a bit here. I haven’t grown at all since we last did this.”

“Are you talking about height, or—?” Seungcheol asks, returning Jihoon’s grin.

“Fucking guess, smartass.”

“What if I find out instead?”

Flipping their positions is simple for Seungcheol: Jihoon is even easier to carry now thanks to Seungcheol’s continued weight training, and Seungcheol puts him on the counter in one fluid motion. Jihoon laughs and winds his arms around Seungcheol’s neck.

“You have fancy countertops now,” Jihoon comments, wiggling and rubbing his ass against said countertops.

“Yes, I do,” Seungcheol replies. He slots himself between Jihoon’s legs and hoists them up; Jihoon wraps them around Seungcheol’s hips in return. “And apparently I’m gonna let you ruin them.”

“Don’t cry,” Jihoon coos.

Just as Seungcheol is about to protest, Jihoon pulls him down for another kiss. The slide of their lips is relaxed, exploratory. Seungcheol can taste the whiskey on Jihoon’s tongue and doubt nags at his head again.

“You’re drunk,” Seungcheol mutters when his mouth is free again.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jihoon replies. “Why? Still worried?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth to speak, but all that comes out of his mouth is a choked moan, coaxed out of him by Jihoon’s hips on his. Their new angle allows closer contact—Seungcheol’s cock rubs along the length of Jihoon’s thigh.

Jihoon hums his pleasure; when he rolls his hips again, he gives a moan of his own, his head lolling backwards.

“Don’t be,” Jihoon sighs. He continues to rut against Seungcheol’s body, sighing and humming all the while. “I know what I’m doing. I called you for a reason.”

“What?” Seungcheol asks. “I thought you said—”

“I did,” Jihoon says, interrupting him again. “And I wasn’t lying—but I could have, like, called a cab or something. This wasn’t some accident or whatever.”

“You—” Seungcheol heaves a harsh sigh and leans his weight forward onto his hands, pushing Jihoon backwards. He can feel Jihoon scramble for purchase with his legs. “You did this on _purpose_?”

“Not the drinking part, that was—” Jihoon stops and looks up at Seungcheol with a wry smile. “Who cares? You should be flattered that I thought of you first.”

Jihoon tilts his head up and kisses Seungcheol again. As he pulls back, he nibbles on Seungcheol’s bottom lip. Once he lets go, he stays close enough that their lips brush when he speaks. “Haven’t stopped thinking of you, to be honest,” he adds. “So let’s have this. We can deal with everything else later.”

“Everything else?” Seungcheol repeats. He’s starting to get lost.

Jihoon shushes him and drops his hands to the hem of Seungcheol’s shirt. Since Seungcheol’s arms are supporting his weight, all Jihoon can do is pull the clothing up, but it leaves enough room for Jihoon to run his hands over Seungcheol’s stomach.

“God,” Jihoon murmurs.

Seungcheol chuckles and turns his head to kiss Jihoon again. His tongue is in his mouth immediately, fervent and demanding and impatient. Seungcheol’s breath is caught in his chest as he tries to keep up, but it’s not long before he’s lost in the heat of Jihoon’s insistent mouth.

Jihoon sits up and pushes Seungcheol backwards. Seungcheol complies, and Jihoon pulls away for just long enough to tug Seungcheol’s shirt off.

“Wow,” Jihoon whispers. His cheeks are pink and his lips are bruised and his smile is so, so wide. His eyes drag over every inch of skin revealed to him, and when hen his gaze hits Seungcheol’s eyes, his grin widens. “Hey, can you get the light?” he asks. “I want to see this.”

“Flatterer,” Seungcheol mutters.

Jihoon plants his hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders, but he doesn’t move to close the distance between them.

“I’m being serious,” Jihoon insists, “I really want to see how, like, buff you are now.”

Seungcheol rolls his eyes. “I have a better idea,” he declares. He leans forward and scoops Jihoon up into his arms, pressing their chests together again. Squealing, Jihoon wraps his arms and legs around Seungcheol’s body to prevent him from sliding down.

“But you’re gonna let me see, right?” Jihoon asks.

“Do we ever have sex with the lights off?” Seungcheol asks in response, smirking.

Jihoon laughs and says, “Nice!” in English. Seungcheol laughs with him as they move to his bedroom.

Seungcheol flicks the light on while Jihoon leans over to close the door behind them.

“Teamwork,” Jihoon says simply. Seungcheol grins.

Seungcheol sets Jihoon down on his back and climbs over him. There’s not a moment of hesitation as Jihoon drapes his arms over Seungcheol’s shoulders and pulls him down for another kiss. His legs come up next, and Seungcheol reacts immediately, meeting Jihoon halfway and pulling his limbs up and around his waist.

Their pace slows now that they’ve settled in bed. Still, Jihoon’s hands are hot as they drag up Seungcheol’s bare skin. They stop at his nipples, pinching and pulling and playing around. Seungcheol pants harshly into Jihoon’s mouth and grinds down on him. The friction against his cock feeds hot pleasure into the pit of his stomach, but it’s not enough, not nearly enough.

Jihoon arches his back, seeking more and more and more, something that’ll set fire to the embers fluttering in his gut. His moans bounce around the room, unbidden and unrestrained, his capacity to care burned to ashes under Seungcheol’s hot mouth.

As Jihoon drags his nails down the length of Seungcheol’s back, he relishes the way Seungcheol’s flesh yields to his touch. His hands circle around to the front of Seungcheol’s pants, but before he can start working on his fly, Seungcheol grabs his wrists.

“Why don’t we catch you up?” Seungcheol asks.

Seungcheol’s hands are gentle as they tug at the hem of Jihoon’s shirt, but when Jihoon sits up to assist him, Seungcheol switches gears; suddenly, he’s eager, impatient, and he yanks the shirt off and drops it off the side of the bed.

For a moment, they sit back and stare at each other. Jihoon moves first: his hands find Seungcheol’s chest again, already missing the heat of Seungcheol’s skin.

“God, look at you,” Jihoon murmurs, his fingers roaming Seungcheol’s body with no real destination; there is only the intent to explore. “Honestly, what the fuck is this?”

Seungcheol chuckles, the sound low and rough around the edges. He reaches out a hand and smooths it up the length of Jihoon’s torso, drawing a shudder from him. His other hand joins the first on Jihoon’s body, pushing Jihoon back slowly with the force he uses to touch him.

“Don’t praise my vanity,” Seungcheol says, his tone light with laughter.

“If you say so,” Jihoon replies, mirroring Seungcheol’s mirth. He shifts his weight to avoid being pushed onto his back. While he doesn’t mind being subject to Seungcheol’s strength, they might as well take care of the rest of their clothes while they’re at it.

Seeing someone naked for the first time always involves a certain awkward eagerness. Seeing someone naked for the first time in years is something else entirely: the novelty of it is emphasized as they compare each other to previous versions of themselves, picking out things like beauty marks and scars and sensitive spots, wondering how much has changed.

This time, Seungcheol moves first. He runs his hands up the length of Jihoon’s legs, starting from his knees and working his way up. With a sharp inhale, Jihoon falls back, his skin tingling as he watches Seungcheol’s hands make their way to his swollen cock. Sparks of pleasure jump through his nerves as Seungcheol firmly grips his erection and gives a few pumps.

“Seungcheol,” Jihoon whimpers. His voice trembles, floating on his uneven breaths. It only gets worse as Seungcheol plays with the head, spreading precum with his thumb.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol answers, just short of a purr. He strokes Jihoon leisurely and licks his lips as Jihoon lifts his hips up.

“C-Come on,” Jihoon mumbles.

“‘Come on’ what, Jihoonie?” Seungcheol asks, grinning wickedly. “Talk to me.”

Jihoon can only whimper, his body shaking, unsure how to process the sensations wrapped around him. When Seungcheol plays with his head again, Jihoon moans and bucks his hips.

“Ji-hoon-ah,” Seungcheol coos, jerking his hand with each syllable. “You can talk. You can do it. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“Want you,” Jihoon manages, “want—more.”

“Yeah?” Seungcheol lowers himself onto an elbow, still gripping Jihoon with his other hand. His breath falls over Jihoon’s cock when he speaks again. “More what?”

Jihoon scrambles upwards as he tries to keep track of Seungcheol’s movements. He bends at the waist to watch Seungcheol’s mouth curl behind the curve of his cock.

“Anything,” Jihoon breathes. “Everything.”

Seungcheol shoots him one last smirk before sliding his lips over Jihoon’s dick. Jihoon falls back with a long groan.

Seungcheol takes his time to get familiar with with the shape of Jihoon’s cock. His hands find Jihoon’s legs and holds them up by the back of his knees, limiting Jihoon’s movement. All Jihoon can do in this position is whine, trembling, silently begging for more.

“Seungcheol!” Jihoon cries once the tension has built to unbearable levels. “Seungcheol,” he repeats, close to sobbing, desperate for release but hungry for more, more, more.

Seungcheol pulls off him with a wet noise.

“You don’t want me to finish like this?” Seungcheol asks. He yanks on Jihoon’s legs until his ass hits Seungcheol’s thighs. Jihoon sucks in a quick breath as Seungcheol slides his hands up the inside of Jihoon’s thighs, gasping when Seungcheol grabs his ass and pulls him closer still.

Leaning forward, Seungcheol rubs his cock against the seam of Jihoon’s thighs. His breath leaves his lungs in a shaky exhale as he savours the friction for a moment.

“Greedy Jihoon,” he mutters, half to himself, “all you can do is ask for shit, huh?”

Jihoon swallows, propped up on his elbows so that he can see Seungcheol’s every move.

“What do you want, huh?” Seungcheol asks, grinding down. His voice is shaking as he continues, “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Y-Yeah,” Jihoon replies, swallowing around the reply, fighting for breath. “Come on, Cheol.”

Seungcheol clicks his tongue and grabs at Jihoon’s cock.

“What if I just want to do this?” he asks, pumping Jihoon’s length, quick and firmly.

Although Jihoon tries to talk, his words splinter and break apart under the weight of his moans.

Seungcheol might be enjoying this a little too much. Still, it’s the least he deserves, he thinks; if Jihoon gets to play with him for one round, then he ought to get the next one.

“Cheol,” Jihoon whines, lifting his hips in time with Seungcheol’s movements, chasing pleasure despite his complaints. “Come on, Cheol,” he pants, “don’t—”

“Don’t what?” Seungcheol asks. He slows his hand until he’s only stroking where the head meets the shaft. Jihoon whines again, lifting his hips, but Seungcheol shifts and moves his other hand to pin Jihoon’s body down.

“You know,” Jihoon says. “I know,” he continues, though he falls short and takes a moment just to breathe. “I know what you’re trying to do,” he manages, a scowl pulling at his swollen lips.

Seungcheol grins. “Well,” he says, drawing out the sound, “then it’s up to you, Jihoonie. You could settle for this, or you could do what I want.”

The scowl on Jihoon’s face deepens, but he can’t hold the expression for long. Jihoon exhales and covers his face with one hand.

“Seungcheol-ah,” he starts, “will you—ugh.”

Seungcheol beams. “Yes, Jihoonie?”

Jihoon’s free hand curls before he busies it with gripping Seungcheol’s arm. He looks up at Seungcheol and says, “Seungcheol-ah, please—please just fuck me already.”

Seungcheol smiles and moves his weight to free up one of his hands again. He pushes Jihoon’s bangs out of his face. “Okay, Jihoon-ah,” he coos, “since you asked so nicely.”

Jihoon just sighs. His expression borders on a pout as he lowers his face from his hand, watching as Seungcheol retrieves lube and a condom from his bedside table.

“Been a while,” Jihoon says, “so, um.”

“I’ll take care of you,” Seungcheol reassures him.

Again, Jihoon covers his face with a hand. “Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You’re cute.”

“Shut up.”

Seungcheol’s hands are gentle as he prepares Jihoon. As Seungcheol slowly adds fingers, Jihoon covers his mouth with a hand, biting his fingers as Seungcheol continues.

“You okay, Jihoon-ah?” Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon nods. “‘S good,” he mumbles, “just—want you.”

Seungcheol smiles and says, “I know.”

Jihoon shifts his hips as he adjusts to Seungcheol’s movements. In response, Seungcheol takes Jihoon’s erection with his free hand and strokes him in time with his fingers.

“Ah,” Jihoon gasps, body twitching. His voice trails off into a hum, and his eyes flutter shut.

“Come on, Jihoon-ah,” Seungcheol purrs. He crooks his fingers and Jihoon’s body jerks. “You’re doing so well.”

Jihoon hums again, uncertain how to respond to the praise. Eventually, his body speaks for him as his hips lift to meet Seungcheol’s fingers. Trembling, Jihoon opens his mouth to speak, but only moans fall from his lips as pleasure burns him up.

“Ready?” Seungcheol asks, saving Jihoon the trouble of talking.

Jihoon nods.

They both groan and sigh as Seungcheol pushes his cock into Jihoon’s body. Seungcheol pushes forward slowly, slowly, holding Jihoon’s legs up all the while. The friction both feeds the hunger in Jihoon’s stomach and spurs it on—it’s good, and that word can hardly do it justice, but he wants more.

“C-Come on, Cheol,” Jihoon says. His hands find Seungcheol’s ass and pulls him closer. “It’s good, I’m good, it’s fine—come on.”

Seungcheol doesn’t need to be told twice. He hoists Jihoon’s legs over his shoulders, grips Jihoon’s slim hips with both hands, and begins to fuck into him with abandon. All Jihoon can do is wrap his arms around Seungcheol’s neck, holding him close, moaning into his ear, unable to hold anything back now.

Their pace is brutal, but Seungcheol can’t settle for anything less, won’t settle for anything less, driven by both Jihoon’s vocal response and the heat in his gut that craves for more.

Their position leaves Jihoon entirely at Seungcheol’s mercy, but Jihoon doesn’t mind in the slightest: there’s something incredibly attractive about the display of Seungcheol’s physical strength, and it only fuels the fire burning him up from the inside.

“Yes, please, Seungcheol—” Jihoon babbles, trying to pin down words to express just what it is he wants, talking for the sake of releasing some of the tension building in his body.

“Jihoon,” Seungcheol breathes in response. He dips his head to look down at Jihoon, and a small smile pulls at his mouth at the sight: Jihoon’s eyes are shut tightly and his mouth hangs open, allowing bits and pieces of words and thoughts to fall out of his throat. Still smiling, Seungcheol leans down to kiss him, quieting the sounds but not muting them, swallowing them and savouring them deep in his belly.

“Close,” Jihoon mutters against Seungcheol’s mouth.

“Me, too,” Seungcheol replies. He sucks on Jihoon’s tongue and Jihoon moans, craning his neck to ask for more, always more.

It takes some maneuvering, but Seungcheol frees up a hand so that he can take Jihoon’s erection again. Jihoon’s responding moan is immediate. He jerks his hips into Seungcheol’s hand, throwing off their rhythm a bit, caring about it even less.

As Jihoon nears his peak, his control unravels: he moans and whimpers unintelligible things, tossing his head when Seungcheol’s not kissing him, his heels digging into Seungcheol’s shoulders.

“Please, please,” Jihoon gasps.

Seungcheol smiles again, sweat dripping down his face, and captures Jihoon’s mouth in a kiss. Always demanding, this one—but Seungcheol wants nothing more than to please him. He speeds up his hand and Jihoon lets out a loud whine against Seungcheol’s mouth.

“Yes, Seungcheol—!” Jihoon cries. White spills over Seungcheol’s hand as Jihoon’s body trembles, shaken with his orgasm and Seungcheol’s ruthless thrusts.

Seungcheol bends forward and buries his face in Jihoon’s shoulder. They’re pressed together so closely, with Jihoon bent at a harsh angle, and it doesn’t take much longer for Seungcheol to find his own release. Jihoon strokes Seungcheol’s back as he comes, murmuring sweet nothings into his ear.

With a shuddering sigh, Seungcheol sits up a bit to ease the fold of Jihoon’s body, but he doesn’t pull out just yet. Jihoon stares up at him with a small smile and brushes away some sweat on Seungcheol’s face with a sweep of his hand.

Clean up is short and lazy. Neither of them bother with getting dressed; instead, they burrow together under the sheets and fall asleep, guided by satisfied exhaustion.

 

* * *

 

Seungcheol wakes up first. His internal clock beats him awake, though he can immediately feel the lack of sleep as he cracks his eyes open. Still, it’s hard to beat old habits; even though it’s Saturday morning, his body craves routine and time to laze around in the morning sun.

As he sits up, he tries his best to minimize movement that might rouse his bed partner. The blankets shift and so does Jihoon, but that’s that. Seungcheol breathes a small sigh of relief.

His hands curl into the sheets as he stares down at Jihoon. Some part of him thought he’d feel nostalgic at the sight, but—well, he hasn’t decided what exactly he feels yet. Warm, first and foremost, he feels warm in the pit of his stomach. Part of that can probably be attributed to the sex and the body heat Jihoon lends him under the sheets. But Jihoon’s peaceful, sleeping figure hollows out a space in Seungcheol’s chest that also leaves him feeling cold.

He doesn’t really want to linger on that part just yet—at least not without having some coffee first.

Quietly, he gets up and gets dressed. He pads into the kitchen, grabbing his phone on the way out of his room. He scrolls through his notifications as he waits for the water for his coffee to boil.

 

2023-11-08  
**[Jisoo]:** **  
** (9:03AM) _gonna be home late today_

2023-11-08  
**[Seungcheol]:** **  
** (10:15AM) _please let me know if I’m gonna lose my roommate_

2023-11-08  
**[Jisoo]:** ****  
(10:17AM) _don’t be so dramatic_ _  
_ (10:17AM) _turns out his sister is visiting today and he wants me to meet her_

2023-11-08  
**[Seungcheol]:** **  
** (10:18AM) _ooh, meeting the family. This is getting serious_

2023-11-08  
**[Jisoo]:** **  
** (10:19AM) _shut up maybe?_

 

If he’s honest, Seungcheol is glad that he won’t have to kick Jihoon out early or anything. Not that Jisoo would intrude on them—but he’s not sure he wants to have to explain the situation to Jisoo, at least not so soon. Not when he hasn’t had time to let everything sink in yet.

As he pours the water into his coffee maker, some part of his brain says that drunk Jihoon was right—as much as he hates to admit it. It’s just sex. They’re not dating, they’re not gonna get married or anything, and as it is, they’re still hardly even friends. Seungcheol can’t remember the last time he talked to Jihoon without having bumped into him by accident first.

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be friends with Jihoon. And maybe he would also like to date Jihoon. But obviously this avoidance means something—there has to be a reason why they haven’t sought each other out.

What is he afraid of?

He mulls it over as he goes through his fridge to prepare some food. Fried rice seems like a good idea.

When he and Jihoon were dating, Seungcheol wasn’t a great cook. He didn’t have time to practice. But he does remember that Jihoon likes his rice extra crispy—that should be something nice to wake up to, at least. It’s always good to make a good impression as soon as possible.

Making a good impression is important to Seungcheol, which is pretty telling in itself. It doesn’t answer his earlier question, though.

As he digs his spoon into the rice, he digs into his brain and tries to fish out the vague feeling of apprehension stewing in there. It’s caged by the lingering feelings of warmth from last night. Pleasing Jihoon, making him happy, leaving a good impression—he wants Jihoon to like him. He wants Jihoon to stay. He wants Jihoon, and maybe it’s as simple as that.

Maybe it’s the fact that they have history at all that scares him. Maybe he’s worried things will end up the same way—maybe he’s scared that they weren’t meant to stay together.

That’s bullshit. There is no such thing as ‘fate’, or whatever; if he works hard enough, then he should be able to make things work.

Right?

Still, even if he wants to pursue things, it doesn’t mean anything if Jihoon doesn’t want it, too. But Jihoon must want _something_ if he’s been thinking of Seungcheol all this time.

But he’s not a mind reader. He’ll have to wait and find out.

 

* * *

 

Jihoon wakes up feeling warm, all the way down to his toes. As soon as he wakes up, he knows he’s not in his own bed. Everything smells different here. The sheets are softer, too.

Jihoon stretches out and stares at the ceiling. He should probably check his phone, but he doesn’t want to get up and face reality just yet.

His ass hurts. That’s enough reality to think about first thing in the morning.

For a while, he focuses on the sounds coming from outside the bedroom. He can hear distant clinks of dishware somewhere beyond the door. Eventually, he smells coffee, and his stomach bugs at him to get some food.

Sighing, Jihoon rolls out of bed, missing the warmth immediately. The early-November morning is cold—but it doesn’t make him eager to put on last night’s clothes. He goes for his underwear first, lying in a heap on top of the rest of his clothes on the ground. Pants go on next, and he pauses to fish out his phone from his pocket.

 

2023-11-08  
**[Soonyoung]:** ****  
(3:05AM) _where are you_   
(3:47AM) _excuse me_   
(4:02AM) _LEE JIHOON_   
(9:59AM) if i get otu of bed amd ur not at home imgonna kill u

2023-11-08  
**[Jihoon]:** **  
** (10:26AM) _i’m not dead_

2023-11-08  
**[Soonyoung]:** ****  
(10:26AM) _NOT YET_ _  
_ (10:26AM) _IF I KNEW WHERE YOU WERE YOU’D DEFINITELY BE DEAD_

2023-11-08  
**[Jihoon]:** ****  
(10:27AM) _ok chill_ _  
_ (10:27AM) _i’m alive so chill out ok_

2023-11-08  
**[Soonyoung]:** ****  
(10:29AM) _fine_ _  
_ (10:30AM) _but where are you_

2023-11-08  
**[Jihoon]:** **  
** (10:30AM) _uhhhhhhhh_

2023-11-08  
**[Soonyoung]:** **  
** (10:31AM) _holy fucking shit jihoon don’t tell me_

 

Holy fucking shit indeed. Soonyoung sends him another text, but Jihoon doesn’t look at it. Instead, Jihoon pulls on his shirt and sighs.

Honestly, he should be feeling happy. He scratched an itch that’s been bugging him for months now. In fact, he got more than he bargained for: he got a full course meal out of a drunken whim.

But it’d been a step down a slippery slope. Part of him wants another go; having Seungcheol once doesn’t mean that he doesn’t want him any longer. There are so many ways to have a person, and he doesn’t want to stop here.

He’s fairly certain Seungcheol will let him have him, too, so what’s bothering him? The fact that he wants Seungcheol at all? There’s nothing wrong with being attracted to someone, especially someone that looks like Seungcheol.

Jihoon listens to the sound of something sizzling in the next room. Seungcheol has moved onto food, it seems. Jihoon’s stomach nags at him again.

Nothing will happen if he doesn’t move. That idea has a certain appeal to it too, but Jihoon doesn’t see the point in delaying their inevitable talk—not at this point, at least.

He pokes his head out of Seungcheol’s bedroom and follows his nose to the kitchen. He sees his jacket on the way there, but he doesn’t grab it.

“Hi,” Jihoon says to Seungcheol’s back. Jihoon settles against a nearby counter, but he doesn’t get comfortable.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up. “Coffee?” he asks, gesturing to a french press with a spoon.

“Uh, sure,” Jihoon replies.

“Cups are there.” Seungcheol uses the spoon to point at a cupboard.

Jihoon rises on his toes to grab the closest mug.

“Cream and sugar are still on the counter,” Seungcheol adds.

“Thanks,” Jihoon mumbles.

As he prepares his drink, the sound of sizzling fills in the space between their bodies.

“Smells good,” Jihoon says. He approaches Seungcheol’s side and looks over his shoulder. “Looks good, too.”

“Thanks,” Seungcheol beams.

Jihoon looks up at him. Seungcheol’s hair is a right mess: tufts of hair stick out at random. There’s some stubble creeping over his lip, and the spaces under his eyes seem dark.

Something hot and sharp pulls at Jihoon’s stomach. It’s not hunger. Well, it’s not the kind that can be satisfied with fried rice, at least.

The urge to smooth down Seungcheol’s hair makes Jihoon’s fingers tingle. He wraps them tightly around his coffee mug and takes a sip.

“Okay, coming through,” Seungcheol says, turning to set the pan on a hot pad on the kitchen table. He turns and grabs some namul from the fridge. “Here,” he says, passing Jihoon some plastic containers filled with various vegetables, “put these on the table.”

They set the table quietly. Jihoon takes the side of the table adjacent to the wall and Seungcheol sits at the corner next to him.

“Oh,” Jihoon says around the food in his mouth, “your cooking’s gotten better.”

Seungcheol grins. “Not bad, right?”

They continue to eat in silence, shoving food into their mouths at a pace fueled by hunger. Although there’s no reason for them to speak while eating, the silence pokes Jihoon’s brain. He observes the space Seungcheol leaves between their bodies: there’s more than enough elbow room, but it doesn’t look like Seungcheol is trying to sit as far away as physically possible. There’s breathing room, and Jihoon appreciates that.

It’s… nice, surprisingly. The food is warm, his coffee is warm, Seungcheol’s presence by his side is warm. It’s honestly more than Jihoon was expecting. But everything sits heavy at the bottom of his stomach, like he’s preparing for things to turn sour.

“Did you sleep well?” Seungcheol asks him eventually. A tried-and-true question—but the tilt of his head reads genuine to Jihoon.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says, returning Seungcheol’s stare with some difficulty. Morning Seungcheol is—cute. The domesticity of his appearance endears Seungcheol to Jihoon, and honestly? That might just be the reason behind his churning stomach.

Maybe it’s affection. Jihoon has always been bad at handling that.

“What about you? You got up kind of early for a Saturday,” Jihoon says. His words come out a bit slow, like he’s worried about Seungcheol’s response.

“Force of habit,” Seungcheol replies. He shrugs. “But no problems here.”

Jihoon had been hoping for—something. He’d been hoping that Seungcheol would say a little more than that. He’d been hoping that Seungcheol would say the things Jihoon couldn’t, that he would do all the work and let Jihoon sit back and relax.

“That’s… good,” Jihoon says into his bowl of rice.

He can feel Seungcheol’s eyes on him as he finishes off his food. With a _click_ , Seungcheol sets his spoon and bowl down on the table.

“So,” Seungcheol starts, and Jihoon’s heart beats a little faster, “are we gonna talk about this or no?”

Jihoon stares at the table. “Did you want me to congratulate you on a job well done?”

“Don’t worry,” Seungcheol says around a smirk, “I don’t need you to tell me in order to know that I did a good job.”

“Wow, brag about it, maybe.”

“I think you might have done that for me, considering how loud you were.”

Jihoon’s ears heat up. “L-Listen,” he starts, finally looking up. He can’t find a way to finish his sentence, but Seungcheol doesn’t give him the opportunity, anyway; he starts laughing.

“You know I like it when you’re loud, Jihoonie,” Seungcheol teases. It makes Jihoon’s blush even worse.

“What exactly is there to talk about?” Jihoon asks. His voice comes out louder than he’d like, but he continues anyway, “If you don’t want me to say that it was great, then did you want me to thank you?”

“Maybe for picking up your drunk ass,” Seungcheol replies. He shrugs. “But, you know. I don’t know. I just thought you might have something to say about the whole thing.”

Jihoon looks down at the table again. He picks up a bean sprout with his chopsticks and drops it into his empty bowl.

“You know I’m no good with these sorts of things,” Jihoon mutters.

Seungcheol gives a little sigh. “Yeah,” he says, “I do know.”

“Do you need help cleaning up?” Jihoon offers instead.

Seungcheol raises his eyebrows. For a breath, they stare at each other without saying anything.

“...Sure,” Seungcheol says.

Seungcheol washes the dishes while Jihoon dries them. They stand elbow to elbow with each other when Jihoon speaks again.

“Um, I have some work to finish later,” he starts, “but—uh, if you’re free for dinner, um…” He swallows the lump in his throat before finishing, “We can go out. Consider it my thank you for picking me up.”

Seungcheol stops. His arms are elbow-deep in soapy water, but he stops and turns his head, seeking out Jihoon’s gaze. It takes a while, but Jihoon looks up, albeit with some hesitation. His cheeks are flaming.

“Lee Jihoon,” he says, a smile threatening to split his face in half, “are you asking me out?”

Jihoon holds Seungcheol’s gaze for all of three seconds before looking at the bowl in his hands. “You heard what I said,” Jihoon mutters.

Seungcheol leans over and bumps his hip against Jihoon’s. The sudden movement startles Jihoon to the point where he almost drops the bowl.

“Dinner sounds good,” Seungcheol says, returning to the task at hand. “There’s this really good chicken place near work. I can pick you up at around seven, if that’s okay?”

Jihoon nods to himself. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah. That’s fine.”

“Cool.”

They work quietly until the last dish is clean. Jihoon goes back to where he’d left his coat and picks it up. Seungcheol looks at him from across the room, wearing a small smile.

“What the fuck are you smiling about?” Jihoon asks. A smile of his own pulls at his mouth.

“Is there something wrong with smiling? Is it some sort of crime?”

Jihoon ducks his head and shrugs his coat on. “Whatever,” he says, “I decided I don’t care anymore.”

Seungcheol walks him to the door. He leans an elbow against the doorframe, shadowing Jihoon’s small stature with ease.

“I’ll see you later, then,” he says.

Jihoon shoves his hands into his pockets. He looks up at Seungcheol’s eyes and finds himself unable to fight a smile.

“Yeah,” he says, and though the word feels a bit awkward in his mouth, he smiles.

Seungcheol holds his gaze for a second before leaning down and pressing a quick kiss to Jihoon’s mouth.

“Bye,” Seungcheol says, grinning.

Jihoon blinks. His mouth pulls into a crooked smile as he waves goodbye.


	2. Epilogue

They’ve been dating for about a month and a half when they come home from a party Jeonghan hosted for Jisoo’s birthday. Seungcheol throws his keys into the bowl by the door as Jihoon wrestles with his coat.

“You know,” Seungcheol starts as he begins to strip off his winter attire, “while it’s not really a big deal to move between our places, maybe it’s time we started thinking about making things a little easier.”

Jihoon looks up from where he’s hanging up his coat.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Jihoon asks, lifting a brow.

“Maybe.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bit soon to talk about that?” Jihoon asks, but a small smile pulls at his mouth anyway.

Seungcheol shrugs. “We’re not getting any younger,” he says.

“Did Jisoo’s party spook you?” Jihoon’s mouth stretches into a full smile. He approaches Seungcheol and pinches his cheeks. “Are you having a midlife crisis?”

“I’m being serious,” Seungcheol whines. 

“Jisoo’s, like, half a year younger than you,” Jihoon states. “You’re both twenty-eight now. You still have some time before you’re thirty.”

Sighing, Seungcheol slings his arms around Jihoon’s waist. He presses his face into the crook of Jihoon’s shoulder, enjoying the plushness of his oversized sweater.

“I’m not having a midlife crisis,” he says, his voice muffled, “I’m just trying to think ahead.”

“I think you’re just being lazy. I live literally five minutes away from here.”

“Just hear me out,” Seungcheol says. “Jisoo’s probably gonna move in with Jeonghan soon, so I’m gonna need a roommate.”

“Okay, fine,” Jihoon replies, “but what about Soonyoung? I can’t just leave him stranded. He moved with me again, you know. It wouldn’t be fair if I just left him hanging.”

“Oh.” Seungcheol frowns.

Chuckling, Jihoon pats the top of Seungcheol’s head.

“Listen,” Jihoon starts, “I can talk to him when the time comes. I’m sure we can figure it out like functional, reasonable adults. Maybe he can get Chan to be his roommate or something.”

Seungcheol looks up at that.

“Are they a thing?” Seungcheol asks. His hyung instincts are kicking in.

Jihoon pinches one of Seungcheol’s cheeks.

“Don’t ask me about that,” Jihoon replies, but the way he grins doesn’t make Seungcheol feel better at all.

Seungcheol lets go of Jihoon in favour of padding over to his bedroom. He continues to shed his layers in preparation for bed, and Jihoon follows suit.

“You know,” Seungcheol says, his hair a mess now that he’s tugged his sweater over his head, “I’m really glad you moved down the road.”

Jihoon doesn’t look up from where he’s unbuttoning his shirt. “Yeah?” he asks, wearing a smile.

“Yeah.” Seungcheol puts his sweater in his closet before starting on his pants. “You know, I hadn’t been able to keep a partner for more than six months ever since we broke up.”

Jihoon looks up at that, his eyes wide. “Really?” he asks. His shirt hangs off his shoulders, and it makes him look both sexy and cute. It’s nothing short of amazing, Seungcheol thinks.

Seungcheol nods. “Yeah,” he says. “I never thought much of it. I never had a particularly long dry spell or anything, but nothing was ever super long term or anything, either.”

“Huh.” Jihoon finishes removing his shirt and folds it up. “Well, you know—I actually didn’t date much at all after we broke up.” He shimmies out of his pants and folds those, too. “Me and Soonyoung had kind of a thing, but—obviously that didn’t work out.”

“Really?” It’s Seungcheol’s turn to be surprised. “Tell me about it.”

Jihoon rolls his eyes and climbs into bed next to Seungcheol. He winds his arms around Seungcheol’s waist as Seungcheol pulls blankets over their bodies.

“It was whatever. It was a couple of years ago; I don’t really remember much. We messed around, that kind of thing. But it wasn’t—” Jihoon pauses to consider his words. “It never really got serious, I guess? Like, we’re friends and we get along really well. The sex was pretty good, too. But we couldn’t, like… I don’t know. I can’t imagine getting married to him or anything.”

Humming, Seungcheol rests his chin on the top of Jihoon’s head.

“Can you imagine getting married to me?” Seungcheol asks.

Jihoon pinches Seungcheol’s side, and he squirms and laughs in response.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Jihoon mutters. “Get Jisoo to move out, then we can think about living together. Anything more than that is in the future.”

“Okay, fine—” Seungcheol grins to himself. “Then can you imagine a future with me?”

For a while, Jihoon is quiet. But it’s not like Seungcheol’s impatient to hear the answer; in fact, he’s half-expecting Jihoon to pinch him again, or maybe worse.

“Yeah,” Jihoon says eventually. “I think I can.”

Seungcheol shifts so that he can look Jihoon in the eye. Although Jihoon’s cheeks have started to turn pink, Jihoon offers Seungcheol a small smile. Seungcheol grins in return.

“Sometimes it kinda feels like we were meant to be together, you know?” Seungcheol says.

This time, Jihoon pinches him.

“God, don’t start.”

“I’m being serious!” Seungcheol replies, but the goofy grin on his face betrays his words. “I mean, like—think about it like this: we dated for so long in school, and then the world cruelly ripped us apart.”

“Cruelly,” Jihoon repeats, unimpressed.

“Yeah! And then, years later, we’re reunited by some force of nature—”

“My boss—”

“And now we’re together again. Isn’t that fate?” Seungcheol finishes.

Jihoon rolls his eyes. “There’s no such thing as fate,” he says, “but—” Seungcheol perks up. “I see what you’re trying to say.”

Pleased, Seungcheol leans in and presses a warm kiss to Jihoon’s lips. Jihoon returns it easily, smiling against Seungcheol’s mouth.

“What’s so funny?” Seungcheol asks when he pulls back.

Jihoon shakes his head. “Nothing,” he says, his smile widening. “It’s just—you’re  _ such _ a fucking sap.”

Seungcheol beams. “You’re not wrong about that,” he replies with a slight laugh.

Humming, Jihoon hooks a leg around Seungcheol’s, pulling their bodies closer. Seungcheol arches into Jihoon’s touch and his hands find Jihoon’s ass.

“I love you,” Seungcheol says, nuzzling his face against Jihoon’s cheek.

“I  _ was _ planning on having sex with you, Seungcheol,” Jihoon replies dryly. “There’s no need to convince me.”

“I’m not trying to do anything! I just wanted to say it.”

Jihoon snorts. He smooths down Seungcheol’s hair, an impossibly affectionate gesture, and Seungcheol feels warm all the way down to his toes.

“Whatever,” Jihoon mutters. He leans in to capture Seungcheol’s mouth in a searing kiss.

As Jihoon kneads the flesh of Seungcheol’s ass, he moves to press a kiss to Seungcheol’s jaw. He shifts a little closer, moving until his mouth is right next to Seungcheol’s ear.

“I love you too, you know,” he murmurs. He feels Seungcheol smile against his cheek.

“I do know,” Seungcheol says.

“Good.”

They pull back and exchange easy grins. Then Jihoon rolls his hips and Seungcheol gasps.

Jihoon doesn’t believe in fate, but the way that Seungcheol fits against his body might just convince him otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And this ends this longass... thing. It really got out of hand lmao but anyway! thanks for reading!
> 
> find me on twitter @shujeongs and hit me with that sweet jicheol


End file.
